


It Lies in the Hand that Sets It Free

by MistressGalahat



Series: Twelve Days of Stories [12]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bill's Voice, Depression, M/M, Pacifica is a good friend, Post-Series, Sad, University, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressGalahat/pseuds/MistressGalahat
Summary: Dipper comes across something that reminds him of Bill - and it sparks a voice in his head to comment on just about everything.No one ever said life after Gravity Falls was supposed to be easy, but Dipper would like to believe there was such a thing as 'getting better.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> On the twelfth day of Christmas  
> my true love sent to me:  
> Twelve Blue Thoughts

There was only a blurry distinction between reality and imagination.

It all started from the simplest of things. A dream that appeared too lucid to be anything but reality, or sometimes a reality that was so absurd it could be nothing but a frightening dream. Most people woke from those sort of dreams bathed in a thin sheen of sweat and a startled gasp on their lips as they came to realise that they had yet to leave their own bed.

For Dipper Pines, his dreams and reality had been mixed up long before those moments came to pass.

A summer - warm and bright with a plentiful well of good memories and new friends. Mabel with a face covered in expired smiledip that was not safe for consumption. Waddles becoming too intelligent to be a pig. Wendy introducing the two of them to the rest of the town. Helping Soos keep contact with the woman that didn’t emerge from a computer game. Grunkle Stan and his ridiculous collection of false - albeit somewhat true - collection of knick knacks in the Mystery Shack.

Grunkle Ford existing.

_ Bill. _

An eye, looming above him with mirth in it’s single depth. Obnoxious laugh echoing around the realm of impossibilities known as the Mindscape. Bill trying to-

Dipper woke with a start, barely a sound escaping him as the scream got caught somewhere in his throat. It clammed up and the teen gasped for a breath, hands swatting to the nightstand beside him in search of the glass of water he had left there.

Gulping down greedy mouthfuls, Dipper took note that the water had become lukewarm. With tired eyes, he took in the red numbers on his alarm clock. 4:13 am. A good three hours before he was due to get up if he was to make it to the University in time for classes.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone…” Dipper whispered the words, but for all intents and purposes, he might as well have been shouting them out loud. From the room next door, Dipper could make out Mabel’s faint snores as she slept on in their quaint apartment, unaware of his peril.

Running a hand through his mop of hair, Dipper got out of bed, the wooden floorboards cold underneath his naked feet. His sheets would need changing again, the sweat having thoroughly soaked through the material as soon as he had begun to toss and turn.

He walked on light feet, the soft tapping the only real indicator of someone making their way to the bathroom. The light blinded him momentarily as he flipped the switch, eyes adjusting to no longer being confined in darkness.

As if out of habit, Dipper shuffled over to the medicine cabinet, his hand rifling through its contents until he came across the bottle he knew by heart. The ridges of the cap, the thickness of the glass and the only word in braille that he knew by touch.

Swallowing the diazepam had become a second nature to him, his nerves unwinding and brain finally slowing to a pace where he could keep up somewhat. There was no need for him to try and go back to sleep, although his frantic heart started to beat at a more normal pace.

He put the glass back in its rightful place, mentally counting the number of pills left in the bottle before he had to get a new prescription. The switch was turned off as he left the bathroom, his wandering feet leading him to the couch where he plopped down.

Dipper landed on something hard, resulting in a grumble as he removed the offensive pair of knitting needles that had decided to poke him in the back. A blanket hung by the armrest, crafted by a bored Mabel in the June before last, and more than once Dipper had used it as a replacement after leaving his bed behind.

The remote was where he had left it, just beside the half-eaten popcorn bowl from Mabel and his marathon of Ducktective a few hours previous.

Flicking through the channels, Dipper didn’t notice when he dozed off again, body pleasantly numb from the medication and a dull documentary about the comparative study of wall paints.

Before he knew it, a gentle hand was shaking him awake.

Cracking open a crusty eye, Dipper looked up at a smiling Mable - a yawn overtook her face and made tears spill over her sleep flushed cheeks.

“It’s seven o’clock.” She said in lieu of a ‘good morning.’

“Morning,” said Dipper in response. His back was aching from the awkward position in which he fell asleep, back popping from the strain as he got up. The lumpy couch was comfortable enough for a quick nap, but even three hours on the thing could be a bit of a stretch on a good day.

Mabel left him in the living room, her humming growing faint as she started to buzz about with pans and ingredients in the kitchen. She was no doubt in the mood for pancakes, if Dipper had to venture a guess.

His own morning routine brought him back to the bathroom. A quick shower, cold and making his skin stand on end. A toothbrush in hand as he brushed his teeth and admired the bags under his eyes. They were larger than they had been when he had gone to bed, darker too, if the lighting wasn’t playing tricks with him.

Dipper sighed and replaced the toothbrush with a small tube of concealer he had managed to trick Mable in to fetching for him. She hadn’t been keen on the idea, but he had assured that it would make him feel better not having to be asked three hundred times at the University if he had been partying all night.

(There were the few incidents when a new teacher would approach him about how bad smoking weed was for the body. They never listened when he tried to explain that he wasn’t into that sort of thing, and usually only his good grades made them bite back a scathing remark or three about his presumed lifestyle).

Mabel had already laid out his hydroxyzine next to a stack of steaming pancakes, syrup glistening off of them in time with rays of sunshine sneaking through their window. He took his medication dry, but followed it up with a bite of the piping hot breakfast.

The conversation around the small table was carefree and did not involve any questions about how Dipper ended up sleeping on the couch. Mabel was used to it by now, and Dipper was not the most forthcoming person when it came to his dreams.

Instead Mabel laughed with him about sloths, new craft projects and that one guy at work who had been trapped in the ladies bathroom.

It was always easier to get back on track - back to reality - when the sun was shining and his schedule normal.

He bid his goodbyes as Mabel grabbed a glue gun and a pack of fresh glitter from the kitchen drawer. It was always best to leave before she began to include him as a living piece of artwork for her next big thing.

The trip to the University went about as well as one would expect. The bus was stuffy, and the warm autumn weather generated an unpleasant smell of sweat and moisture caught in between armpits.

Dipper ended up being squeezed between the window and the rather large lawyer from the firm just off of campus grounds.

If not for the light outside spilling through the thickened glass, Dipper knew from the moment his hands became clammy and his head filled with cotton that he would have had yet another anxiety attack. Claustrophobia had become a common pastime when traveling by bus, but still he refused Mabel’s idea of getting a bike.

He didn’t trust his mind well enough to let himself out on the road with cars.

Just as easily as ignoring everything around him in the bus, he stepped out in the fresh air as his stop rolled around. The grounds were already milling about with students, and Dipper felt the well known dread curdle in his stomach. Counting to ten he took a deep breath, his ribcage nearly rattling at the amount of force behind the action.

Like with clockwork, the day ticked by steadily, sometimes slow and sometimes incredible fast. A second here and an hour there, class after class. If there was one thing Dipper appreciated, though, it was the lack of attention on him during said classes.

Sure, he raised his hand and answered more questions than many of his other peers, but outside of the classes he thrived in the silence. Unless he sought out company on his own, no one typically bothered him.

It suited him just fine.

It made him able to get away from the hustle and bustle, instead seeking out the aspen tree a few minutes away and the shade it provided. Dipper huffed, his breath warm as the grass tickled his body.

The sun was warm, a gentle caress on his skin and the grass a blanket under his body. If he set his watch, Dipper knew he could get a good twenty minute nap and still make it to the next class. If, and only if, he took the shortcut through the garden of the older man living close to campus, but that was a chance Dipper was willing to take.

His eyes slipped shut, school bag propped under his head as a makeshift pillow.

Colour seeped out of his surroundings, leaving only greytones behind the otherwise unchanged scenery. The birds still chirped the same tune, the sun still felt as hot as before he closed his eyes, but the uneasiness crawling in his fingers made his skin jump. Made him aware he was dreaming.

Made him know he wasn’t going to get any actual sleep for the time being, despite desperately wanting it.

Dipper knew he could walk in this world, or float or fly or whatever he felt like doing, but it didn’t make the knowledge of it any easier to bear. His body was too heavy to move, and the thought of moving was nearly too foreign for him to complete. So he didn’t.

Time passed, he knew as much, but only when the watch on his sluggish hand started to make a shrill noise at him did the passing of time seem to become a concept he could grasp.

Colour came back in his vision, bleeding like a dying animal until the last of the grey was nothing more than regular shadows. Until a trickle of fiery blue zipped from the corner of his eye and rattled his already frayed nerves.

Sweat sprung up on his brow and fell down his temple.

Dipper checked the time, counted his fingers and took a deep breath - tried to make eye contact with the students passing him.

The fire was gone as quickly as he had seen it. Nothing more than a flash, but plenty to make his heart race.

Dipper sprang up on his feet, bag hastily swung over his shoulder as he stalked over to the closest student in passing. Someone he hadn’t seen before, or perhaps had never paid attention to. A girl who wouldn’t mind him asking a seemingly ordinary question without thinking him mad.

“Excuse me, could you please tell me the time?” Asked Dipper, tongue darting out to moisten his dry and chapped lips.

The student stopped walking, her face briefly glancing over at Dipper’s obviously functioning wristwatch, but some of the desperation he felt must have shown on his face.

“It’s five minutes to two.” She said quickly, her feet walking just a bit faster than before Dipper had stopped her. That was okay, since it was unlikely for the two of them to ever end up in the same class - and it wasn’t as though rumours about him hadn’t been spread from the day he started.

What Dipper cared about was the fact that there had been no obnoxious smirk from the girl. No stupid nicknames or grotesque animal innards shoved in his face as a way of joking.

No Bill.

Only the reality he lived in.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dipper waded through the rest of his classes in a fog of medication. The second pill of hydroxyzine had followed shortly after his nap, his head heavy and distracted from both reality and Mindscape.

With no Bill to disturb him, or invade his mind as he so used to do, there was an apt amount of boredom within Dipper’s life. Not to say that the classes were all boring, but when one had faced down gnomes, dinosaurs and demons, ordinary topics tended to become slightly more dull than the average person would assume.

It also just happened that dozing off in your last class was not the best way to garner attention.

“Mr Pines?”

Dipper registered the voice, somewhere in his mind, but he was so comfortable in the darkness. No need to fight or flight, simply a black emptiness that was vast and calming.

“Mr Pines?”

He stirred, an ache in his shoulders suddenly apparent, as well as the hard material of a table on which his chin rested. Groaning, he allowed himself to be smacked in the face by the fluorescent lights of his classroom, teacher staring stiffly at his slumped form.

“Mr Pines, I do wish you would refrain from getting your sleep merely based on every single time you have me as your teacher. I find it highly offensive, and if you continue doing this, I must report it to the office.” Mrs Bailey was a woman of a rather short stature, messy hair the same colour as the alcoholic drink students would joke she was named after.

Dipper willed his body to sit upright in his seat, the chair not as comfortable and cushy as he had seemed to think of it when he had been getting proper sleep. The room was bare except for him and the teacher, class having ended long before he had been woken up.

“Sorry, Mrs Bailey, I’ll try to get some more sleep at home.” Except that he would, without a doubt, not be getting any actual sleep once he was face first in his bed.

Mrs Bailey let out a short huff of air - indignation as well as a smidgen of worry for her student. “See that you do, Mr Pines. I would be rather displeased if you suddenly dropped out. Your assignments are one of the few worth reading.” Her nose was turned upwards, as much as a person of her height could manage, but the message came across.

The clock on the wall was ticking away heartily, noise loud and partially distracting Dipper from giving Mrs Bailey the attention he had denied her earlier. “Oh crap,” he said, eyes widening at the sight of the hands on the clock not working in his favour.

Gathering up his things, Dipper threw his half open pencil case and a foray of books into his bag with a frantic hand. “Good class, thanks for the talk, bye Mrs Bailey.” He sprinted out of the door before his teacher could reply, one leg in front of the other.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Dipper repeated the words under his breath like a mantra. As though saying it out loud would somehow make his legs run faster to his destination.

“I’m gonna make it - I have to make it. Please don’t make me miss the bus.” He choked the words out, his pace nearly sending him sprawling more than once as he spotted his means of transportation in the distance. He bended and twisted, hopped and sprang to avoid crashing into other students.

The sound of the bus revving up its engine caused panic to well in his throat - thick and tangy on the back of his pallet. From the half mile he had yet to sprint, he saw the offending piece of transportation pull away from the bus stop, cough out black smoke and be well on its way home without him in it.

“Are you serious?” He coughed out, bending over in an attempt to properly regain the ability to actually breathe and not burn his chest from the jarring motion. Dipper could have sworn that even if he had made it to the side of the bus, it would have driven away no matter what, the busdriver laughing at him from the rear view mirror.

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, backpack still slung precariously over his shoulder, Dipper started walking. “Just what I needed, a few hours walk back home to clear my head. What joy…”

His lungs still hurt from the wild sprint and the soles of his feet were sore from the not so appropriate running shoes he had chosen to leave with this morning. (Never shall it be said that any shoes but running shoes are good to run in. For a small distance, they might be, but not for a hazardous sprint and a walk over a mile long right after aforementioned sprint.)

At least the clouds overhead were relatively white in their colour, and not heavy with rain as the forecast had predicted earlier that morning. The sweltering head did nothing for a long walk, but at least Dipper preferred the heat to rain. A cold would be most obnoxious so close to starting another year at the University, and he was loathe to miss any more classes than he already had.

The walk back home started out at a somewhat fast pace, but grew gradually slower as time dragged on. Dipper was well aware he wasn’t built for sports, and the occasional hunting of the supernatural back in Gravity Falls had been fun, but straining at the time.

He had grown leaner over the years. More muscle, but nothing like some of the jocks on campus. He was built for research and life or death situations. Not long walks after missing the bus and wondering whether it was going to rain or not.

The world was dull in Dipper’s eyes. The buildings held colour, but they were muted instead of saturated. Devoid of the life he knew other people would feel once they walked past. It was a curse and a gift to see reality for what it was.

Gloomy and dank in the humid weather.

Dead - for the lack of a better word.

He walked past the small bakery where he would get Mabel her croissant every other weekend. The boutique that sold yards upon yards of strange and quirky fabric that his sister adored so. The used car salesman that reminded him entirely too much of Gideon and all the memories such a thought brought forth in his mind.

Dipper’s throat closed up again, chest growing tight as another memory assaulted him. Of a world gone mad and people who got hurt. Of people taking to arms to protect what was theirs even when the rest of the world remained oblivious to their peril.

His feet became unwilling to move, having stopped somewhere on the main street as he staved off the building panic in his body. For the first time since moving, Dipper noticed the tiny antique shop on the corner - with its brass sign signalling a warm welcome and the smell of heated dust permeating through the open door.

The two large windows looking out on the street were filled with clutter and too many things for Dipper to count, but what caught his eye was the logo of the shop. The tiny triangle drawn upon the window like it didn’t mean the world might end.

_ It’s the little things, isn’t it, Pine Tree? _

Dipper shook his head fiercely, willing Bill’s voice to just  _ leave his mind alone _ . His fingers tapped a rhythm of ten on his thighs, the reality of his world overriding the craziness of Bill’s. Of the Mindscape he so freely travelled to whenever he seemed to dream.

The one placed he didn’t wish to be, Bill or no Bill.

“Mr Pines?” A shrill voice called out.

Dipper turned on his heels, the panic that had been building simmering down to a light boil at the sight of a brown car pulling up. The window was rolled down, easily letting her voice travel through the air.

“Mrs Bailey?” Asked Dipper. He must have taken longer to walk than he thought if his teacher had managed to get off from work before he made it back home.

“I must say, Mr Pines, did you leave my classroom in such a hurry and still not make your bus?” She pulled over on the curb, a smile on her face at the sight of her distressed student.

Dipper grimaced, a smile on his face as best as he could. “It seems I’m having really terrible luck at the moment.” That wouldn’t even begin to cover it, but telling someone that he was hearing a demon every now and then would never be the best option.

“So it does,” she said. “May I offer you a lift?”

Dipper hesitated. Mrs Bailey was his teacher, but she was also the youngest of the staff. Much more liked by the students than some of her other colleagues, and he knew there was no reason not to agree.

“If you’re sure you won’t mind.” He said. To his own ears, his voice was meek and tiny in the noise of the street.

Mrs Bailey shook her head and gave a small laugh, the bun in her hair becoming slightly more undone with the motion. “It won’t be any trouble at all, but it would make me feel a lot easier to know you got home safe. And that you got yourself some decent sleep instead of spending your time walking.”

Dipper grabbed the handle of the car door, getting in with a thank you leaving his lips before he consented the words to do so.

Mrs Bailey started the car again, the engine shaking the vehicle slightly with the power it held in its depth. “I didn’t take you for the sort to like antiques.” The small talk was expected, but Dipper startled in his seat anyway.

His voice broke on the first word, but he cleared his throat and tried again before it could be commented on. “I spent a summer working with some family once - a place called the Mystery Shack. Not exactly antiques on the shelves, but you do get a taste for the weird when you’re there.” He didn’t mention that it was pure coincidence that had him stop in front of the little antique shop.

Mrs Bailey gave him a brief glance, and Dipper felt himself squirm under her scrutiny. “Is that so? I might have to visit there someday. It sounds like an interesting place to spend some time.”

The conversation fizzled out somewhat after the brief exchange, and Dipper was happy to let it die out. He wasn’t in the mood to humour the teacher giving him a lift home, although it would have been the polite thing to do. His pounding headache was giving him enough of a mental workout.

The quiet was nice for a while, the radio the only thing letting out more noise than a breath through the nose.

Except when the radio played a terrible song with lyrics about demons and Mrs Bailey didn’t appear to notice Dipper’s small notions of distress.

He damn near bolted out of the car once she pulled up to his apartment building.

It didn’t occur to him that he never told her his address.

 

*

It was another week before Dipper missed the bus on his way home. He didn’t make a habit of having it happen, but his luck had always been spotty at best.

Mrs Bailey hadn’t been in that day - sick, the office had said, so he couldn’t expect the little brown car to pull up next to him and take him the rest of the way home. Instead he took the regular trek down through main street.

He bought two cakes on his way home from the bakery, avoided the fabric shop at all cost, and before he knew it, his feet had unwillingly stopped in front of the antiques shop. He hadn’t ever been inside, and the will to do so had been practically nonexistent.

And yet Dipper found himself in front of the brass sign clearly stating that he was welcome, one hand already on the cold handle as he twisted it and entered. A bell tinkled somewhere above him, signalling his arrival to whomever was in the shop.

Inside the clutter was even more rambunctious and out of any particular order - at least as far as Dipper could tell. The air was musty, rich with the smell of books and old leather. It was stale, but the light from outside, as well as a breeze, kicked at the dust bunnies when he closed the door after himself.

“Anyone here?” He called. In the silence, any words spoken were too loud, and Dipper felt hot embarrassment flush in his cheeks at the sound of his own voice.

There was no answer, so Dipper hefted up the greasy paper bag of baked goods and let his eyes wander.

He had expected a few more items with a triangle, given the fact that it was so very obvious to him the first time he stumbled upon the store and its large windows. So far, all he could see were various flowery tea sets, a few ornate trays in either silver or verdigrised copper, and the books spilling out through every crack in the small room.

“Hello?” He called again, his voice just a little bit louder than he intended it to be. “The sign said you were open?”

A loud crash came from further back, although Dipper couldn’t make out a door anywhere. A man stormed out from behind a moaning bookcase filled to the brim with knick knacks, his eyes wide and bald head shiny with sweat.

“What?” He cried out, eyes wild as though the thought of an actual customer in his store surprised him more than he could fathom. “Who are you? What do you want?” The man’s word might have come off as rude, if not for the obvious bewilderment in his voice.

“Erhm,” said Dipper, suddenly conscious of himself as the man’s attention focused solely on him. “I sort of just wandered in from the street, but your shop seems interesting.” He wanted to smack himself with the bag from the bakery. He had just wandered in? What sort of excuse was that?

What was he even doing in a vaguely sketchy antiques shop instead of going straight home to Mabel?

_ Funny thing, coincidences _ .

Dipper forced himself to grit his teeth and not react any further to the intrusive voice in his head. The man watched him, beady eyes scanning over the obviously sleep deprived University student from down the street.

“What can I help you with?” The man tried again, potbelly hanging over the edge of his worn leather belt. The man couldn’t have been older than the mid forties, but he acted as strange as some of the older professors on campus. “Anything in particular you’re searching for, young man?”

_ Your soul _ .

Dipper flinched, avoiding the eye contact he had otherwise gained with the man. “I dunno,” he shrugged, the bag crinkling in his hand as he refrained from telling the voice to just shut up. “Looking for inspiration, I guess…”

The man sighed. “One of those, huh,” he said with a small smile and an eyeroll. “Searching for destiny or whatnot. I get your type more often than you can imagine. Feel free to look around and browse, but anything you break, you pay for. Got it, kid?”

A spark of warmth shot through Dipper’s stomach. Perhaps it was the man’s wording, or maybe the lack of proper sleep was finally getting to him more than usual, but Dipper was reminded of Grunkle Stan. He hadn’t been called a kid in ages.

He kind of liked it.

“Sure,” he said instead of the thanks that rested on the tip of his tongue.

He let his mind wander and his fingers even more so, the man staying in his nearby vicinity as Dipper inspected item after item. The man never rushed him. Instead he crossed his arms and waited until Dipper made some form of sign that he was willing to buy something he came across.

The tea sets would have delighted Mable, but neither of them liked the taste of it. The books were only partially interesting - old volumes of classics, but none with any actual information that Dipper could seek out on the nights when sleep eluded him. And while the serving trays in the shop were indeed elaborate and ornate, they would have no proper use in Mabel and his apartment.

A few things stood out to Dipper though.

The carved trojan horse on the counter, next to the old cash register. The outdated globus in the shape of an egg instead of a sphere. But the one thing that had Dipper halt shone unexpectedly from the back of the room, hidden slightly beneath a tilted mountain of books and an upturned table.

It was a stone.

A brilliant blue one that seemed to flash whenever Dipper raked his eyes over its small form. It had no particularly interesting shape or cuts, but the colour sucked him in and made him weak of breath.

It burned like fire in the lack of light. In the corner, surrounded by darkness and so very little light, it thrived and consumed whatever attention was thrown its way. A ray of sunshine passed it, and the fire within became lackluster at best.

“Can I… Can I look at that?” Dipper’s knees grew weak as he pointed, and he wasn’t even sure if he had actually spoken the words out loud or merely thought of them in passing. But apparently he must have done so, as the man quirked an eyebrow and fetched the stone piece.

“It’s a black opal. From Lightning Ridge in Australia, I think.” The man clicked his tongue, as though the stone itself had done something to offend him.

Dipper rolled it between his fingers, warm and undeniably hot in his grasp. “How much does it cost?”

The man waved his hand. “The thing is cursed. First, people won’t buy it because it doesn’t shine in the sunlight like any real gem should, and then a few years ago, a crack suddenly appeared and now it’s just been lying around the shop since.”

_ Admit it, you missed me, Pine Tree. _

“How much?” Pressed Dipper, his throat closing up again and words disappearing from his brain without his say so.

The man frowned, his bushy eyebrows quirking in response to Dipper’s insistence. “Tell you what, if you buy it here and now, I’ll give it to you for fifty bucks. It’s extremely cheap, I might add, so don’t go and try to haggle.”

Dipper nodded. The fifty bucks was all the money he had on him, but he would gladly sacrifice it for a moment of peace in his mind. The shop had bugged him since the first day he had noticed it, and now the gem in his hand had both unease and calm spread through him.

It was a fine line between the two feelings, and so far, Dipper couldn’t tell who the victor would be - just that he needed the stone with him, and that leaving it behind was not an option.

“I’ll take it.” He wheezed out and followed the owner to the cash register. The thing was ancient and rusty, but as his purchase was rung up to an even fifty, it sprung open with grace and no other sound besides a few coins jostling around.

The man grabbed the bill and placed it neatly along with the meager contents of tens and fivers he had lying around. “I would ask you what you intended to do with that thing, but I suppose it’s none of my business.” With a glint in his eye, the man leaned forward and stared at Dipper.

And there it was again. That nosy behaviour that made something in Dipper run hot with anger.

_ You could always hit him with the register. It seems heavy enough _ .

Dipper nodded his thanks to the man, took the stone in one white knuckled hand, and exited to the shrill ping of the bell. The door closed behind him gently, although a slam and a moan of hinges would have been much more satisfying.

(The rattling of the brass sign behind him would have to do for now, because the man in the shop would no doubt scoff at his rude behaviour, and Dipper didn’t want to turn around and see the look on his face.)

The gem hadn’t been put away in a bag or a little cardboard box, instead still being carried in his hand.

Dipper knew he shouldn’t have bought the thing. Knew he would have to hide it from his sister as soon as he got home. Knew exactly what sort of shattered look would be on Mabel’s otherwise shining face if she caught sight of it. Knew it would make her break down in tears as it reminded her of the one demon she was trying to forget.

Just as it would remind him of the one demon he never would be able to.

Because in some twisted way, Dipper did miss Bill.

 

*

 

Dipper brought the stone with him every day to University.

At first he had kept it in his trouser pocket, but when it had nearly fallen out during a bumpy bus trip, he had upgraded it to his chest pocket. It was safer that way, and the warmth it provided him over his heart was a welcomed distraction compared to dozing off in class.

He slept better too.

The dreams were still grey and washed out, but for the first time in years, Dipper dreamt in yellow and blue as well. A whole new colour palette to work with. Although not as vibrant as the real world, they awarded him with a sense of peace in the Mindscape that he hadn’t stumbled upon in a long while.

It was calming.

The bag under his eyes lightened in their colour - his amount of concealer taking a dive that had Mable wonder what was going on - and even his fellow classmates had noticed his change in behaviour.

He was less antisocial, became more outspoken in group projects, and even Mrs Bailey mentioned his improving health in passing comments.

“Sleep is a good look on you,” she would say with a smile as she handed back an assignment. He would agree with her, a light laugh playing on his lips as he noted the high mark on the top right corner of the paper.

The one thing that didn’t improve, however, was the voice in his head.

If anything, the presence of the little Bill voice that had been talking to him on a few previous occasions, had seemed to bloom to a near regular occurrence. The obnoxious noise of chatter popped out at random times, always with a foul comment or a less than humane choice of action for the given situation Dipper found himself in.

Just yesterday, during a particular boring lecture, he had had an immense need to do the unspeakable.

_ You have pencils, Pine Tree, you could stick them in his eye sockets. _

No, he had mentally countered, chewing on the aforementioned pencil as though it would let him loosen his grip on the thing instead of hurling it across the room.

_ Why not? Would be fun to see if his eyes are as dry as the words from his mouth _ .

Dipper had broken three pencils that day. Chewing through the first, and gripping the last two entirely too hard for their lithe wooden frame to handle. The led coloured his hands a greyish colour, and for just a moment he had panicked about his perceived reality.

_ You’re still awake, don’t sweat it, Pine Tree. _

Which was also why Dipper didn’t carry a great dislike for the growing voice in his head. At times it was confusing, and primarily disturbing on so many levels, but at other times it was the voice that dragged him out of the pits of his own imagination.

He still took his medication like clockwork, but the amount of times he had been forced to take diazepam in fear of choking on his fear had lessened a considerable amount.

“You seem a lot happier, bro-bro,” said Mabel one morning, her fluffy hair tied up in another messy bun. It was a weak attempt to save herself from a bad hair day, but Dipper knew better than to comment on that so early in the morning. (He valued his life more than that.)

Sipping his coffee, Dipper gave her a lopsided smile, the bags under his eyes no longer a hinderance to do so. “I feel a lot happier too.” He said, enjoying the scalding hot liquid as it coated his throat.

Winter was fast approaching, and while his sleep had gotten immeasurably better, his body was growing a lot colder too. He contributed the fact to the last of the autumn days, but sometimes he would wake up with a shiver deep in his bones.

Mabel gave him a laugh, eyes twinkling in the early morning sun. “Is there a reason for the happy mood?” The enquiry in her voice had Dipper choke on his hot beverage.

“W-what?” Part of him knew what she was asking - what she looked so happy about.

She tutted at him with flour on her face, sweater sleeves rolled up as she attempted to make a new dough recipe. “Come on, Dippin’ sauce, don’t leave me hanging. Have my brother finally found himself a girlfriend?”

And there it was, the answer to the question that had remained unanswered for so long. Practically everyone he knew, both at school and at home, had made it clear what they thought had been the trigger to change his mood. Dipper never corrected them, because he knew they would question the truth more than the lie.

Except now Mable was asking him to his face, and he would be damned if he lied to his beloved sister.

“No girlfriend,” Dipper said. “That’s not the reason for… this.” He vaguely gestured to himself as a whole, and Mabel finally stopped beating up the poor piece of dough in her hands. Dipper was certain it was supposed to turn into buns, if he wasn’t mistaken, but then again, he never was much of a cook.

In the morning light, Mabel’s own bag under her eyes were strangely tangible in a way they hadn’t been before. Her hair was frayed in a way it hadn’t been since the glitter and glue incident of two years prior. Her lips curled up in a tired grimace.

“Then what is it, Dipper? Why the sudden change?” Her voice cracked on the words, and he flinched as though he had been struck by a physical apparition of her questions. “I’ve been trying for years to make you feel better, but nothing ever panned out. And then from one day to the next, you’re improving and acting like yourself again. Like the  _ real _ you.”

Dipper didn’t know what the real him was, because it what Mabel said was true, he feared the consequences of his actions. If this was truly the most he had been himself since that fateful summer in Gravity Falls, then it could all be attributed to the voice of Bill currently having taken residence in his head.

Setting down the coffee, Dipper took a deep and shuddering breath that made his ribcage ache. The air in the kitchen was achingly fresh, but he could taste the underlying layer of dust on the tip of his tongue. It made his throat raw and dusty. “I-”

_ Don’t tell her. _

“I… I’ve been talking to someone.” His throat  _ hurt _ . The stone was flaming hot in his pocket, making the skin over his heart taught and raw with pain.

_ Don’t tell her. _

“Who?” Demanded Mable, a string of brown hair getting chewed up as she awaited her brother to start talking in actual sentences.

_ Don’t tell her! _

Fine! He nearly shouted back, the urge to do so out loud an intense emotion that boiled under his flesh.

“Mrs Bailey, my professor at the University - you remember her, don’t you?” The lie slipped seamlessly from his mouth, like oil from a leaking ship. The knowledge that he had lied to Mable made him nauseous and dizzy.

His sister gave a weak nod, sceptical eyes seemingly accepting his answer, but clearly not understanding the obvious why.

“It’s helps to talk about it. To someone who wasn’t actually  _ there _ .” He doesn’t have to elaborate what the ‘there’ means. The word weirdmaggedon was practically banned in the household, but knowing each other as extensively as the siblings did, words were sometimes easily foregone. “It makes it easier to get through. And I just talk to her. Mrs Bailey doesn’t fully comprehend what we are actually discussing after the Lit classes, but if she’s willing to listen, then that’s enough for me.”

_ Liar _ .

The voice wasn’t condescending, but instead sounded rather proud.

Mabel went back to beating up the helpless dough on the flat surface of the kitchen counter. “If it helps,” she whispered, voice tiny and barely heard over the noise of the chirping birds nesting outside their window.

“It does,” he said. Though who was helping who was a question he was starting to truly ponder.

 

*

 

Dipper did actually start to talk more with Mrs Bailey after their Lit classes.

She typically stayed behind anyway, and since he no longer spend his time sleeping, it was nice to hold an intellectual discussing with another human being who understood his quirky mind to a certain extent.

(The fact that Mabel might actually ask Mrs Bailey about their after class discussions did weigh on his mind when he made the decision the first time around.)

“How did you find class today, Mr Pines?” Asked Mrs Bailey, hands rummaging through the desk at the front of the room in search of something. “I hope I didn’t make too many students fall asleep.”

Dipper chuckled. “I don’t think anyone slept through your class today. It was very, uh, thrilling? Although I have to admit I have never heard of a teacher involving Sindarin and the Silmarillion in one class.” Mrs Bailey somewhat erratic behaviour and teaching had become rather well known around the school, and her classes were in high demand. Dipper considered himself lucky he had been there before her reputation had skyrocketed.

Mrs Bailey pulled out a hair clip - a little black thing with decorative blue pearls in a pattern Dipper hadn’t seen before. It was nowhere near as colourful as the creations Mabel made on the floor of their living room, but it was certainly up there in the slightly eccentric level of things.

“What good is a fictive language if one cannot translate the words of the same author into the words which man himself created?” Her eyes twinkled, the chocolate brown depths swirling as she appeared to laugh at an inside joke of her own.

Dipper gave her another soft smile, bid her farewell for today and stalked out of the classroom. Mrs Bailey was by far his utmost favorite teacher out of the entire faculty, but she was best dealt with in smaller doses, as he had learned from experience.

(He had been offered more lifts back to his apartment at times of rainy weather and missed busses, and while the conversation was often riveting and professional, they sometimes took a trip down the more personal route which Dipper wasn’t all that comfortable discussing with a teacher.)

For now, the weather was holding up nicely despite the earlier forecast of rain that had yet to arrive. And for that reason only, Dipper decided to take the long way home.

Not through the main street, or any of the other shortcuts he had come to learn about, but rather the one on the outskirts of the city, where pavement and concrete gave way to waving fields and hay allergy.

It was a strange thought that the fields would be the deciding factor of where Dipper chose his University, as well as Mabel’s little Etsy shop, but they had both been clear about staying out of the bigger cities. They called it a product of spending their summer in the Mystery Shack, where open air was the norm and large amount of exhaust and honking cars were practically nonexistent.

It had been a mutual decision for both him and Mabel not to go any place too large and filled with people, should they ever encounter the weird and supernatural again.

Not that they had, as far as Mabel was aware.

_ Enjoying a walk? _

Yes, he answered back with a spring in his step. His bag was heavy on his shoulders, the books entirely too large to actually carry around and still have a working back, but Dipper was happy with the ache it provided him.

The pain made him acutely aware that he was alive and well.

That breathing actual air wasn’t just a trick of his mind.

The Mindscape had really fucked him up, Dipper knew it, but it didn’t stop making his life difficult to live.

“Can you still hear me if I talk out loud?” Asked Dipper. He jumped over the first puddle of muddy brown water he had encountered so far - courtesy of the shower of rain they had been given the day before. He remembered the downpour vividly, as Mabel had complained about her new bundle of sweaters getting all wet when she hung them out to dry.

_ I hear you, Pine Tree. _

No cars were driving on the road, the thin strip of asphalt cracking like chalk and worn from years of use. A few patches of a newer black had been added from where the road had had too large holes, but the general shape of it was quite miserable.

Dipper quite enjoyed the sight of it next to the fields of roiling grass.

“That’s good. I thought you could only hear my thoughts for a brief moment.” Dipper chuckled. There was a reason he liked the abandoned roads from the University to Mabel and his apartment. Mainly because they were abandoned, and for not having to pay as much attention to his surroundings as if he was walking down the main street.

“Sometimes I doubt you’re even real.”

The stone in his pocket burned again, a warm flare and completely unlike the time when he had tried to tell Mabel about it. It was strange how there could be such a difference in the warmth and intensity of the gem.

_ Reality is an illusion. _

“And the universe is a hologram, yes, I know.”

A snort of laughter echoed around Dipper. He could never really tell where the voice came from, nor where it was going, and yet it wasn’t much cause of distraction for him. If anything, the revolving world around him was more of the distraction than the one he conjured up in his mind.

_ Who says I’m just a distraction? _

Dipper picked up a stone and weighed it in his hand. It was large and the texture of it rough - lukewarm from having been left in the sun. The size of a small palm, if he had to venture a guess. “I do,” he said in response to the previous question.

_ If you threw that thing hard enough and you hit a human, they would die. _

He knew. Oh, Dipper knew.

They had been having this conversation back and forth for weeks now. The best way to stab someone with a kitchen knife. How he could tilt the stand of watermelons and crush old Miss Evans when she walked past it every day at ten o’clock on the dot. How a student going missing wouldn’t be suspicious if it was done  _ just so _ . (No one would know. No one would have to know.)

“It’s comments like that which makes me wonder at times…”

_ Makes you wonder what? _

“Whether you’re actually Bill, or if it’s just a part of myself that never got over it from when I was possessed.” Because Dipper had wondered that for a long time. Wondering how to go about hurting people wasn’t the best thoughts to have, but neither had they ever been unusual for him. Not since Gravity Falls anyway. Although he had a hard time recalling if he had had any of those  _ prior _ to the events that took place that summer.

_ Telling you would spoil the fun _ . Dipper could just imagine the single eye roll that would have followed up on that statement, should Bill actually have been there in his triangular form.

“Haha,” he wheezed, throwing the rock as far as he could in the direction of the abandoned field. Hopefully he didn’t hit any people unless they were crouching, and if he did hit an animal, it was a casualty he could live with. “Yeah, we are having so much fun.”

The sarcasm was great in his words, but when the voice answered with sincerity for what must have been the first time, Dipper felt his breath hitch.

_ But we are having fun, though, aren’t we, Pine Tree? _

Coughing into his hand and wrongfully inhaling some of the dirt left over from the rock, Dipper couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face. “I guess we are.” He said. “Bill.”

There was no other answer from the voice, nor any other comment on the way home, but the gem was calming in his pocket - almost as though it was smiling back at him in its own way.

A familiar car drove past him as he rounded the corner to the street of Mabel and his apartment. Mrs Bailey didn’t acknowledge Dipper as she waited beneath the red light, and he did not acknowledge her in return either.

Why his teacher was in that particular part of town didn’t bother him all that much, but Mabel’s excessive questioning about why he was late for dinner did. Couldn’t he take the long way home without having her fuss over him unnecessarily?

 

*

 

“Dip-dop, have you seen my scarf?” Mabel was rummaging around the apartment while Dipper crouched over the small coffee table in the living room, his current Lit class assignment nestled between a bunch of loose papers.

“Which one?” He asked, taking a sip of the now cold coffee.

“The pink one with the stars and the ‘Waddles is awesome’ stitching.”

Dipper nearly spat his coffee back out again. That scarf was perhaps the worst one Mabel had ever made, and while the fabric was nice and soft, it didn’t make up for the disaster it was when put on.

“Why do you even need to find it?” He asked instead, afraid that such a comment at the time would set off his already frantic sister. “The interview isn’t until tomorrow.”

Mabel sighed, loud and bemoaning her very existence. “Because I need to be prepared, Dipper. I can’t wake up tomorrow and think I have the right components to make the  _ best _ interview outfit ever. It takes planning! And concentration!”

Dipper’s eye twitched. Concentration was something that was severely lacking in both of them at the moment.

Putting his mug back on its coaster, he patted her on the shoulder. “They’re going to love you, okay? Pacifica already put in a good word for you, and you’re amazing, so there’s literally nothing for you to worry about.”

She flopped out of the chair next to him and ended up somewhere on the floor, her legs a mushy pile of limbs that looked like noodles. “I know,” she whined, sweater getting caught on a loose splinter from the leg of the couch. “But this is such a huge step up, and Paz isn’t even going to be there in person!”

The fact that Mabel was this nervous, he could kind of get behind.

While Dipper had wanted to pursue a further education, Mabel had been content enough making knick knacks and selling her crafts online. And now, with Pacifica having bought a small store in their town and practically turned it into an arts and craft safehaven for Mabel, she would be getting nervous. He would have too, if he had been in her fluffy shoes.

(Not that he would ever tell her that Pacifica had called him earlier in the year with a clear vision of letting Mabel run the shop instead of being an employee. She was by far the most qualified, as Dipper had assured the rich blonde, but he had also warned her about approaching Mabel too directly. He knew better than anyone how Mabel needed at least a few other sane heads in her nearby vicinity, as to not get completely swallowed up by whatever project she was working on at the time.)

“You’ll be fine, Mabel,” he assured her again, this time getting up from the couch and stretching his legs. They were aching from having been crouched for so long, and a good walk would help calm his nerves as well as give Mabel some space to think on the future.

“I think I’ll pop out for a moment,” he said, enjoying the sore feeling of his muscles being stretched. “We’re almost out of coffee, and I don’t know about you, but I won’t survive looking at this stupid assignment without caffeine in my bloodstream.”

Mabel didn’t acknowledge him, and for a short moment, Dipper figured she simply hadn’t heard him. However, when he spotted the slight grimace of a smile on her face, he knew that she had.

He didn’t bother commenting on it.

Mabel had been getting all sorts of weird lately. She didn’t enjoy him spending time on walking the long way home, and his sudden need to go out and see the city when it became dark had been given more than one scathing comment in its passing.

Dipper couldn’t understand her reluctance. She had been happy for him at first, with his improvement and less and less medication, but lately she had grown worried again. She fussed about the time he spent on his own and his strange habits of stalking around the neighbourhood instead of watching television with her.

Never once did he mention that he just wanted to get away from her.

It wasn’t a fair assessment from either of them, but Dipper couldn’t concentrate on talking in his head while Mabel was sitting right next to him. Doing so made him feel terrible - almost as though he was acting dirty or lying straight to her face. In a way, he supposed he was, but the thought never provided him with a solution.

So he stalked out of the apartment under the pretence of getting more coffee.

They both knew it to be a lie, but neither said it out loud.

He left Mabel on the floor of the living room and forewent the coat he really should have brought with him.

_ Won’t your human skin become cold? Sickness is a thing that happens to your species, or so I have been told _ .

“It has been known to happen, but I think I’ll survive for now.” He whispered the words, cheeks turning red from the cold. There weren’t a great many people about so late in the night, and the freezing weather was a pretty decent deterrent as well.

He could almost imagine the snow falling down from the thick, grey clouds in a month’s time. Winter wasn’t too far off in the distance, but the warmth in his body seemed to never truly leave him behind like it would have done with any other person.

“You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?” He joked, cutting a corner and finally spotting the glowing neon sign of the 24/7 supermarket. It was a grubby little place, with mainly two alternating young teens manning the cash register when customers demanded it. Not exactly a well liked place to do one’s shopping, but it did have great opening hours, at least in Dipper’s opinion.

The store was even colder on the inside than the frigid air outside of it. Dipper shivered, pulling his flannel shirt closer to his body in an attempt to warm himself up. The gem helped, but there was only so much a stone warming you from the inside can do about goosebumps on the outside.

It was practically deserted. The aisles were empty and harrowing, the light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead were helpful, but slightly disturbing in their eerie buzz. The lack of people didn’t concern Dipper, as he calmly attributed it to the late night hour.

Breezing through the frozen foods department and coming up to the section filled with various bags of coffee and brands, the air turned a tad bit warmer. Dipper would still have preferred a jacket, but so far he hadn’t gotten sick without his coat on, despite the colder weather having set in a while ago.

The aisle was undeniably small, but he squatted down anyway, reaching for the bag on the lowest shelf. It was the cheapest brand, and it occurred to Dipper that he had never had the need to go for organic or more expensive beans to get his fix.

_ Coffee is coffee, just like people are people. There are plenty of them, so just take the most accessible. _

There were many things he could conclude out of that sentence. Mainly that there apparently was no moral trouble using the word  _ take _ instead of  _ buy _ . He had enough change to buy it, and he wasn’t too keen on getting arrested for nicking a bag of coffee.

“Excuse me,” came a gruff voice as it tried to squeeze past Dipper. The younger man looked up, his eyes greeted with the sight of an immeasurable large potbelly.

Dipper nearly tilted over as the larger man continued to try and squeeze his way through the small aisle, not seeming to care about Dipper’s obvious discomfort.

The gem ran hot. Almost too hot, and he could nearly imagine the sizzling steam rising from the glittering blue stone. Anger flashed through him with a hundred and ten degrees, but Dipper halted himself before he could spit out harsh words. Sometimes it became hard to discern whether those words belonged to him or the voice living in his head.

_ Punch him in the liver, he won’t bruise there. Slap his ears and trip him. Make him land on the metal sign - with luck, his head might crack open. _

The man finally filtered past, leaving behind a rank scent of sweat and musk.

Able to turn his head, Dipper looked at the man with a sneer. There was no denying the recognizable potbelly, as it had become an obvious feature whenever he chose to ride the bus to school.

The fat lawyer from further down the street of the University, with his sleek little toupé and sweaty upper lip. With good will, he seemed to have squeezed himself into a suit at least three sizes too small for a man of his stature, and it resulted in quite a bit of belly fat not being contained by the expensive silk shirt underneath.

_ Just do it! Quickly, before someone sees, you could say it was an accident! The floor was wet from the sweat of that pig of a man, so he slipped and died! _

No, no, Dipper shook his head fiercely, the coffee bag in his hands loudly smacking the contents of itself around. He felt like one of the beans caught in the bag, stuck between a million other insignificant beans between a world of foil covered walls and the reality of existing outside.

_ W _ **_h_ ** _ Y  _ **_w_ ** _ ON _ **_t_ ** _ Y _ **_o_ ** _ U  _ **_do_ ** _ IT? _

“No!”

The man turned, a bead of sweat dripping down from his bushy brow and onto the newspaper he carried so delicately in his hands. “Excuse me?” He snorted, indignation flowing out of him like a sieve.

Dipper struggled to stand, his legs suddenly turning to jelly with the sudden attention provided to him. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I wasn’t talking to you, sorry.” He thundered by as fast as his legs would allow him to, shouldering past the lawyer and making the man reel from the impact.

It caused the sleeve of the man’s jacket to ride up, exposing his wrist, and Dipper nearly stopped breathing as he spotted it.

A triangle, so neatly placed and firmly hidden unless seen by accident. It was a faded tattoo, at least a couple of years old, but it didn’t stop the familiar panic from seizing his chest in an iron grip.

“Sorry,” he squeezed out again as his throat closed up and words became an impossible task for him. The lawyer seethed behind him, shouting about how the youth could never seem to be polite, but Dipper firmly ignored him.

Throwing the coins on the counter for one of the teens attending the shop to find was as much stopping as he did on his way out of the crammy metal box. The walls were closing in on him, the clink of the coins as they hit the plastic desk an all consuming fire of noise that rattled and bounced inside his skull.

No one stopped him on the way out, his receipt lacking for the item he technically hadn’t bought yet. It didn’t really matter at the moment, because all that was in Dipper’s head was a strangled whine of something pitch black and full of fear.

It had been so long since his last attack that when he shook his pockets for the Diazepam he was craving, he was left with nothing but bits of loose thread and a few coins of change in his hand.

His trouser pockets carried nothing in them, not even his phone. He couldn’t even call Mabel and beg her to help him out.

_ Breathe _ .

But he couldn’t! There was no air in his lungs, and the stupid body function didn’t work properly. He couldn’t get the air to stay or his throat to open and take it in. Nothing was working. Nothing at all!

_ Breathe, you silly little Pine Tree. _

Stupid Bill! He wasn’t small any more, not like he had been back then, and how would he even know that, he was just a stone for crying out loud! Not like he had an actual eye so he could check up on things at the moment.

His pocket grew exceedingly more cold, his heart stuttering in response to the sudden - and unexplained - temperature change. His body had become accustomed to the warmth and the feelings that following along with it, but it had been a long time since Dipper had known that stubborn annoyance to be directed at him and not someone else.

His fingers, clammy and shaking, fiddled with the button of his chest pocket and managed to pop it open with a resounding snap as he damn near tore it apart at the seams.

He couldn’t fish out the gem at first, his hand too large for the small space, and the gem too slippery and reluctant to be taken out in the cold. When he finally got a hold of it, Dipper cried out at the piercing cold spreading through the hand that held the gem.

_ Look. _

Prying his fingers open from the closed fist he had created out of instinct, Dipper tried to heave in another breath of air that didn’t come out right. The light of the stone, however, pulsed brighter than the street lamps above him and the shining stars light years away.

It was strange how the sight seemed to calm him. The pulsing blue swirls of fire visible in the dark of the night instead of the light of day. Curiouser and curiouser, Dipper didn’t notice his breathing slowing to a steady intake of oxygen that no longer carried a sense of rapid urgentness.

In his hand, the blue flames flickered and danced as they seemed to skirt around the edges of the gem - not quite contained, but not exactly outside of the stone either. The sight was mesmerizing.

_ I thought breathing came naturally to humans. _

The statement was dry and accusing, but Dipper could stop neither the laughter nor the tears welling up in his eyes. They sprung away from him, his cheeks becoming cold and puffy as they ran down his face in silence, a twist of his tongue licking the salt from his skin as the droplets fell.

“Some of us aren’t very good at being human.” He brought the stone closer to his face, pressing the polished surface of it against his heated skin. It was nowhere near as cold as it had been, but the warmth in it wasn’t entirely back either. Dipper decided it was a good inbetween temperature for it.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said out loud as he made his way past the antiques shop and onto the last stretch of his way home.

Over the silence of the air, Dipper nearly missed the reply as the stone burned in his grasp.

_ Anytime, Pine Tree. _

 

*

 

Mabel got the job.

She was by far more excited at the job prospect than the late time last night with which he brought home the meager bag of cheap coffee beans. Dipper didn’t complain about her fussing, and she in turn didn’t contemplate for too long on the dried tear tracks on his face. He had put the stone back into his chest pocket at the last moment, so at least he dodged the most pressing questions.

His sister had left early the very next morning and only came back with the good news during the late afternoon.

They skirted around the issue for the time being, choosing instead to celebrate Mabel’s new job and the fact that Christmas was coming sooner rather than later.

The interviewer had made it clear that Christmas would be one of the busiest times of the year, and Mabel was therefore expected to spend the winter crafting her things in the shop, and helping out customers whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Which led to the awkward situation of Dipper running down the streets, arms full of brightly coloured yarn and fabric that Mabel had apparently forgotten to bring with her on the job. Cue the errand boy, and Dipper sprinting through the snow covered main street and down to number 221, where Mabel and the rest of the employees were frantically waiting for new supplies.

The mountain of fabric was greatly hindering his view, and the slippery snow was working against him as well, but Dipper trudged on as fast as he could manage. He avoided toppling into old Miss Evans outside the grocery store, but as soon as he hit the actual main street, things became much harder to control.

“‘Cuse me, coming through, sorry ‘bout that.” He nearly ripped off a particularly low hanging marquise, but managed to sway left at the last second. Except it only resulted in him roughly colliding with another human being and landing with his butt on the ground.

Dipper frantically balanced the fabric and yarn, only skill and lots of training preventing him from dropping his load to the wet slush on the ground. “Ow,” he hissed, his tailbone pinging with pain from the abrupt impact with the pavement. He had been fully prepared to have been yelled at for his lack of foresight by whomever he had bumped painfully into, but instead he was greeted with soft words.

“Mr Pines? My, where are you going with all of those things?” Mrs Bailey barely managed to look over the bundles of fabric as she righted herself out and got up from the ground. Her short stature made it nearly impossible for Dipper to keep eye contact with his teacher as he rose from the ground himself. He had never been more conscious of their height difference as he was in that moment.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Bailey, I didn’t see you.”

She gave a snort, the warm breath of air creating steam in the cold winter weather that rose above her chocolate coloured hair. “I figured as much.”

Mrs Bailey didn’t move from the less than busy pavement so he could pass, and Dipper would have facepalmed if he had had a free hand to do so, as she was still obviously waiting for an explanation as to the somewhat weird occurrence. “I promised to help bring some things to my sister, but she obviously demanded I bring a lot. I swear a bear could run right past my face and I wouldn’t even notice.”

“Then let’s hope you do not encounter any actual bears, Mr Pines. It would be such a terrible way to go, wouldn’t you agree?” The mirth carried in her tone, and despite the fact he knew he should hurry, Dipper couldn’t help but ask a question of his own.

“Say, where are you headed off to, Mrs Bailey? Doing some early Christmas shopping or simply taking a pleasant stroll in this terribly cold weather?”

“The first, Mr Pines.” The formal tone never left her voice, calm and professional as he had ever seen (heard) her. “My husband has had his eyes on something in the antiques shop for quite a while, but I have only now found an excuse to go buy it.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for Mrs Bailey. Have a nice day.” He would have waved her off, but he would rather not risk dropping any of his precious cargo.

Mrs Bailey laughed him off, clearly seeing the dilemma in his eyes. “So do I, Mr Pines, and good day to you too. Oh, and your sister as well, of course.”

“Thanks,” he called as soon as he heard her small footsteps step away from him. He wondered what Mrs Bailey’s husband actually looked like. Dipper had never met the man, but found himself suddenly curious as to what kind of person Mrs Bailey would have fallen in love with.

_ Running a little late there, Pine Tree _ .

You’re right, thought Dipper, picking up the pace of his calm and thoughtful jogging until he was flat out bolting through the streets. His words were a constant stream of apologies as he tried to get through the abundant crowd of the city. It wasn’t as though a lot of people were out and about, but carrying rolls upon rolls of fabric made you a bigger menace of public space than one might first anticipate.

Arriving at 221, the glass panel of the door boasting the logo was nearly completely fogged up. He could barely make out silhouettes as they bustled about, sweat no doubt running down their backs and faces as they worked to keep up with the steady stream of customers entering the store.

It wasn’t the first time Dipper had stepped foot inside, but he couldn’t stop the gasp of amazement every time he saw how big the store actually was from the inside.

(When Pacifica had contacted him, he had imagined a tiny booth, but alas a Northwest never does anything halfheartedly, and as such the store turned out to be much bigger than either Dipper or Mabel had anticipated.)

“Can someone help me with the door?” Squeaked Dipper as he pushed it open with a shoulder. It was incredible heavy, and without a bell to signal the arrival of a customer, he would easily have been forgotten in the myriad of people inside.

“Of course!” Said Hannah. She had been hired around the same time as Mabel, but with the simple job of manning the register and filling up wares whenever a shelf looked somewhat depleted. As the grandchild of Miss Evans, Hannah was well known around the town for the go to girl for gossip.

Not that Dipper ever really felt the need to participate in the exchange of gossip, but if one ran into Hannah, there was no doubt something to be learned.

“I’ll be right there!” She called over the noise of the crowd, but Dipper heard her loud and clear. He couldn’t make out Mabel in the mess, but as far as he knew, she tended to hang out in the back room with her creations while the shop kept busy and the items needed renewing quickly.

He felt the door disappear from his shoulder as Hannah stormed over to him and tore it open, fully extended the large door so he could get in properly. He dropped a roll of fabric, the one with the cats and marshmallows on it, but Hannah grabbed it quickly before it could properly topple to the ground.

“Got it,” she said, voice slightly muffled as she disappeared and reappeared in Dipper’s general field of vision. Her cheeks were flushed red with the excitement and atmosphere of the shop, and Dipper knew he looked much the same in his own rush to get there.

Hannah caught his gaze and returned it for quite a few seconds before Dipper cleared his throat awkwardly and shook the bundle in his arms. “Where do you want these?” He asked, knowing that within the mess that looked back at him, there was some sort of convoluted system he couldn’t quite grasp.

She tilted her head slightly, a blonde curl landing neatly on her bare shoulder. “This way,” she said, tongue darting out to moisten her lips in the dry air of the store. The blouse she was wearing was nearly a see through white, but Dipper kept his eyes firmly planted to the back of Hannah’s head, lest he look somewhere that would be considered incredibly rude.

Her walk was tantalizing, the roll of fabric held like a precious piece of metal between her dainty hands. She rattled on about how the couple in the apartment below hers had just gotten a new dog that wouldn’t stop barking, and that the owner of the grocery store had been caught cheating on his wife by Miss Evans herself, who had described the event in salacious details which were then passed onto an unwilling Dipper.

The words registered as she led him to the backroom used for storing supplies, Mabel still nowhere near in sight and probably on another decoration run for sequin or buttons.

_ She’s got the looks, but not the smarts _ .

She’s got a hard reputation to live up to, he thought instead.

The stone pulsed again, warm and comfortable against his chest as they arrived at the back of the room, a large array of hooks on display. Fabric in all kinds and colours hung limply from the ceiling, the rolls neatly folded and tucked at the edge as to ensure the cloth didn’t spill onto the floor. It was more akin a maze than any storage room should be, but with Mabel having a hand in designing the setup, Dipper couldn’t say he was really surprised.

“You’re a big, strong guy, you can hang these up all by yourself, can’t you?” Hannah’s eyes were sharp like viper’s teeth, and while Dipper knew it was a sugar covered ploy to get him to do the heavy lifting, he didn’t mind doing so. “Look at you,” she continued with awe in her words. “Have you been working out?”

Dipper got the feeling that if she hadn’t been standing a few feet behind him, she would have been rubbing her hands all over his arms. She wasn’t exactly subtle in her advances towards him today, but Dipper had always been gentle in his firm ignoration of said advances.

(Not that Mabel hadn’t encouraged him to go for it when it first happened, but he had been extremely uncomfortable and his sister had accepted that as enough of an excuse to not hound him further for it.)

He was just silently glad she had kept the bodily contact to a minimum so far.

Heaving up the rolls in silence and placing them gently on the hooks, he would have preferred the silence to Hannah’s inane chatter.

Apparently Mr Kamiki from the restaurant on the other side of the street had been seen with an extraordinary filled tip jar these last few days, and rumor had it he was selling drugs to kids. However, some said he had been selling leftover food from the restaurant on the streets to avoid wastage of food.

Dipper found it strange how rumours always involved in the extremes. It was either extremely terrible or somewhat terrible with a good and kind heart behind the notion.

“Why would Mr Kamiki sell drugs to kids, though? And where would he even get them from? I can’t really see him slaving away in the restaurant kitchen trying to cook up drugs for middle schoolers.” Sometimes it was better to squash the worst of the rumors before they spread uncontrollably. Mainly because they would ruin Mr Kamiki’s restaurant despite them being either true or false, and Dipper wasn’t much for standing by on the sidelines and watching it happen.

_ Such a lover of humans, wanting to see the best in them _ .

If he didn’t see the best in them, then what was there truly left? The world wouldn’t exactly be a prime place to be if he assumed the worst of everyone he met…

“Mhh, I guess you’re right,” said Hannah, and with a startled jump, Dipper noticed that she had stepped closer to him. “Although think about what a story it would be if it turns out to be true!” Her face lit up like a giddy lamp, but to Dipper, this close to her, she looked more like a scary clown with too much makeup on, than the gossip girl act she was trying so hard to pull off.

She leaned closer as Dipper backed away, his shoulders colliding with the roll of fabric he had just hung up on its hook. The kittens and marshmallows stared back at him innocently, but Dipper knew where this was going.

This was as far from an innocent situation as Hannah’s low ringed v-neck shirt showing off her boobs like a light up display. “Uh,” he tried to find words, any words, but none fitting came forth in his mind. It wasn’t like the times he had a panic attack, although he could feel waves of it brewing in his body.

He felt trapped in the small and dark room, hidden underneath layers and layers of fabric rolls and hooks that were as if taken from a horror movie. Hannah was the predator, and Dipper very much felt like a trapped meerkat about to be pounced on by a snake.

When he could back up no further, Dipper gulped down a weak breath of air as Hannah covered the last few yards of distance between them, eyes dangerously close as she leaned into his personal space.

Her lipstick was a puckered, meat red in the weak light, but it reminded Dipper’s stomach of curdled blood. “Like what you see?” She crooned, fluttering her long eyelashes ladened with blue mascara.

_ No, he doesn’t, you wench! _

Dipper wanted to repeat the words, but found his tongue having tied up on itself. Instead, Hannah crept closer, and he could feel the ghost of her breath, could taste the peppermint gum in the air that she must have been chewing before he got there.

Hair took up most of his vision, neatly kept and floating free in the loose air, but Dipper wanted to look anywhere but the pink face staring at him.

Dipper was tempted to close his eyes and let the whole thing play out. To just let Hannah do whatever it was she needed doing and then turn her down gently if what he thought was going to happen actually came to pass. Except from the corner of his eye something made the weak light above them flash in an erratic manner.

Hannah appeared not to have noticed, as she furrowed her lips and smacked them one last time. She closed her eyes halfway, her eye colour barely recognizable beneath the closed eyelids.

With a snapping sound, something above them came loose.

Dipper saw it before Hannah had even comprehended that something was terribly wrong. Saw it come to pass in slow motion as one of the old rolls of fabric was flung by an invisible force from its place on a hook. For some strange reason, it appeared to be falling only where Hannah was leaning close, and should Dipper choose not to move, he was well aware - in the dark corner of his mind - that he would not be hit by it. Wouldn’t feel the crushing weight of meters upon meters of heavy fabric draping and crushing his body.

_ Let it fall, Pine Tree, I want to see what happens when she goes squish on the ground. _

Dipper was tempted to do it, but as with so many of the other things that had been suggested he do, he was well aware of what the consequences of not taking action would be. Mabel would lose her job, Pacifica would have to close the store due to an employee’s untimely death, and he of all people would be the one to focus on.

There are only so many times the stories about accidents turn out to be true, and while Dipper knew he had luck and a fizzling angry sort of spirit on his side, they would have one hell of a time proving he had anything to do with it.

(Except the attention on him would be severe, and in any case he wasn’t exactly keen on getting into any sort of trouble with the local law enforcement, nor the people living in the town whom would certainly spread nasty rumours he wouldn’t be able to shake.)

“Watch out!” He cried, pushing Hannah and himself out of the way as they landed together in a tangled heap of limbs. Dipper’s shoulder scraped the concrete, his usual choice of foregoing a jacket once again proving to be a terrible choice.

The cloth landed with a dull thud, heavy and shaking the ground as Hannah gave a squeal - finally realising that she had had a close encounter with grievous bodily harm. With death, if it had struck her as had been intended.

She was splayed out beneath Dipper, a painting of colour on the drab concrete, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regard her as beautiful. He could see why people would consider her to be worthy of pursuit, but to Dipper the appeal had left the moment she opened her mouth.

A ditzy blonde with a talent for gossip. If anything, she was a third-rate Pacifica look alike without any amount of the Northwest smarts that seemed to run in the family.

“My hero!” She cried, arms snaking up to grab a hold of Dipper’s brown hair as she gave it a tug and brought his lips down to meet her own. She licked at his lips, her eyes closed as she tried to convey just how grateful she was to Dipper for saving her life.

He pushed her away gently, letting his hands find hers as to pull them slowly away from his hair without losing too many strands. Not once did Dipper reciprocate as Hannah refused to quit her insistent mangling of his mouth.

Finally, he put his hands on her face and turned her head so that she had to let go, lest she be hurt. Dipper’s eyes were dull when he met Hannah’s confused stare.

“Hannah, I’m not interested in you.” There. Blunt and precisely to the point, as he should have done it from the moment he had encountered Hannah and she had tried to court him in vain.

Those big eyes grew infinitely bigger as she comprehended his words, her hands dropping to the ground along with her head as she lied there, staring up at Dipper as though he had told her the world was a cube and not a sphere. “What?” She squeaked out, lips flushed and shiny with her own saliva.

Dipper leaned back on his knees, leaving plenty of room for Hannah to get up should she wish to do so, but instead the young woman let herself lie on the ground. “I’m serious, Hannah, I’m not interested in you like that. I just came to drop the things off for Mabel.” Bringing his sister up in the somewhat one sided conversation was perhaps the most efficient mood killer Dipper knew of, and never before had it failed him.

It didn’t do so this time either.

Never one to disappoint, Hannah flinched back, tears spilling over the edges of her carefully planned makeup as sobs started to escape her mouth. “What do you  _ mean _ you’re not interested? No one ever says no to me!”

And wow, if that wasn’t wrong on so many levels.

Dipper actually preferred having a voice in his head over the obvious delusion Hannah was suffering from. Although instead of continuing to cry, as he had suspected her to do, she instead turned red with anger as her cheeks puffed out and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Sorry, Hannah, but I’m not into you.” Dipper couldn’t say it more plainly than that, and he didn’t even have to feign the disinterest in his voice as the words left him. There was really no actual quality about Hannah that he would care to give a second glance, nor did he want to get to know her any further, as she had not so subtly understood by his dropped hints time and time again.

Not actually thinking she would do anything, Dipper didn’t see the slap coming until it was too late and his cheek was stinging like a bad mosquito bite. He cracked his jaw open, the popping noise he was so accustomed to hearing from his back suddenly echoing around his skull as the joint popped the air bubbles in it.

If anything, Hannah had one hell of a slapping capability, should she ever decide to make a career out of it.

“You asshole!” She cried in indignation, standing up so quickly she sent Dipper and his wobbling balance out of order and down to the floor again. She pulled her miniskirt down, as if modesty was suddenly a thing she cared about, but in doing so, her breasts nearly jumped out of the v-neck.

Her cheeks were blazing red, but whether from anger or embarrassment, Dipper couldn’t give a straight answer. Although if he had to bet his money on something, he would have to say she was more embarrassed than angry.

“Never before have I ever heard of such a lame - urgh! What a freakin’  _ jerk _ ! Leading me on and then casting me aside - as if I would ever date such a  _ nerd _ !” She stormed from the room, a furie wearing converse instead of combat boots.

He didn’t dare correct her that he took the nerd comment as an actual compliment and not an insult, as she figured the word to be.

“Thanks for the save,” he said when the boiling girl had left him alone in the half dark room. Dipper cracked his neck, feeling an ache there that hadn’t been present before his jump to save the ungrateful employee.

_ Not like you were going to do anything about her. _

“Well, I couldn’t exactly throw her in front of a bus and let the wheels do the work, could I? I have morals, unlike a certain someone.” The conversation was already making him feel slightly better, but he knew his sister would check up on him soon, as he would rather skedaddle out of the store before the atmosphere turned even more awkward than it was going to be.

_ Would have been fun to see, though, you have to admit. _

“See what?” Asked Dipper.

_ The spitting chihuahua thrown under a bus in motion. I’d see that. _

Dipper laughed, boisterous and loud, as he figured he might as well make the best of it, seeing as he had been left to his own devices. “I’d pay to see that, but I wouldn’t want to be the one to clean up afterwards!”

 

*

 

He had avoided Hannah with fervor ever since the incident in the storage room.

It was obvious she had been highly offended by his blunt rejection, as rumours about him had been spread quickly until Mabel had found the source and threatened with firing her. His sister had managed to find him in aforementioned storage room before his hopeful escape, and with just a glare he had spilled the beans to her.

She had been furious on his behalf that she had forced herself on him, and the retribution for Hannah’s actions came swiftly in the form of Pacifica signing her last paycheck and practically throwing the girl to the curb by herself. (It had been quite the hilarious sight, and Mabel had made sure to videotape the whole thing.)

Taking a walk down the main street had become a tad bit harder, as Miss Evans had taken to ignoring him completely, and the rest of the people in the town either didn’t care, or had had the unfortunate idea of actually listening to the rumours Hannah had spread.

Dipper didn’t mind much, and Mabel, along with Pacifica, had dealt with the whole situation so that he wouldn’t have to. And it had made his twin back off for a little bit about his odd trips outside, during weird hours of the day - and night.

For now, he was content walking down the main street for a quick stroll until a sight startled him into reality with the heat of molten lava.

As he turned the corner he had become so used to walking past, instead of seeing the quaint little antiques shop, there was a sea of flames and a good few firefighters trying to salvage the building.

People were milling about, some in their pajamas, and others simply wanderers of the night just as Dipper himself. There were clear indicators as to where the line of spectators ended and the reign of the firefighters began, but somehow he managed to shoulder his way to the front of the barricade.

Dipper recognized Mr Kamiki standing shoulder to shoulder with him, and he tapped the older man on the back. “Hey, do you know if the guy who owns the shop is okay?”

Mr Kamiki turned to face him - the older man had been one of the few to instantly dismiss Hannah’s accusations against him, as the restaurant owner had been on the receiving end of her slippery tongue more than once.

His mustache shone with sweat in the heat of the flames. “There’s one dead. Burnt to a crisp, they say. Didn’t get him out in time, or so I hear.”

_ Burning. Writhing and screaming - twisting in on himself like a shrinking piece of plastic left out in the sun _ .

Stop it, he told the voice, teeth gritted with anger at the mental image he was given. There was so much heat in the air, Dipper could barely feel the gem and its warmth in his pocket in the way that he normally would have longed for. Now he could have done with the cold he had felt only one time before.

Did you do it? He wanted to ask out loud, but the amount of people around him had him feeling extremely self conscious.

_ No _ .

It answered regardless, as it had done so many times before.

Not that it helped anything with the burning building wasting away in front of him, piece by piece, but it did make Dipper feel slightly better. It was a hollow comfort to revel in, but he was willing to take what he could get.

I’m glad you didn’t do this, he told the voice. His heart was sinking in his chest as the firefighters kept running back and forth, axes and hoses of water cradled between their hands like a bird always returning to its nest.

_ What do you mean with ‘this?’ _

Dipper managed to choke away the laughter before it escaped him. The time was less than appropriate, but the heavy sarcasm set his own humour aflame before he could sternly tell it not to do so.

Oh please, he thought, as if you have never used your powers before. Did the roll of fabric nearly fall on Hannah Evans by its own volition?

There was no answer, but Dipper didn’t need to hear it said. He had seen the blue flames spark to life on several different occasions, and they were not always an omen of help in his eyes. His nightmares had been so often fueled by said flames, back when he would have woken up drenched in sweat and sour panic on his tongue. Now they instead inspired something calm within him that Dipper had trouble placing.

It was strange how his life had taken a turn, and yet the place that had allowed for it to happen was disappearing in hungry flames and plumes of smoke as he silently watched a tragedy take place.

The people watching the scene unfold with morbid curiosity became fewer and fewer as the wet winter night dragged on, their interest fading now that at least one person had been pulled from the wreckage and no more seemed to resurface.

Mr Kamiki bid Dipper goodbye when it became evident the fire was under control. It occurred to Dipper that the older man had been so highly interested in the spectacle as his restaurant was further down the street and had been, at one point and most likely, susceptible to catching on fire as well. Like a very fiery sneeze passing on a cold that ran undeniably hot.

Dipper stayed, the flames licking and colouring his eyes until all he could see was the building being eaten away and consumed. People milled about, disappearing from the scene more often than new people came to, rendering it desolate and barren bar the firemen still at work so late in the night.

He might have stayed there the entire night if someone hadn’t smashed into him, sending him careening to the snow covered concrete with a small gasp of surprise. Dipper landed roughly, his back already smarting from the amount of pain shooting through him.

Blinking away black and orange spots from his eyes, Dipper looked at the person who had rammed into him. With a sleek suit just barely covering the potbelly, the young man recognized the other almost instantly.

Not once since the incident at the store had Dipper run into the lawyer from further down his University road. He counted himself lucky that he hadn’t so far, and from the look of anger on the man’s face it was clear that he remembered him.

“Uh, sorry,” mumbled Dipper, although by the fact that he was the one on the ground and the other man was still standing straight, part of his brain knew the apology should have been the other way around. By the sneer coating the lawyer’s ugly mug, he shouldn’t have been expecting one either.

“Watch it, kid.” Snarled the man. Dipper noticed the crooked front teeth that was slightly bigger than the other teeth, but the little imperfection would not be wise to point out, lest it set the man off any further.

“Sorry,” he repeated, getting up with a bit of effort in his cold limbs and brushing off the snow that had gathered on his pants. The lawyer didn’t make another comment, but stalked off with a grimace on his face that was as equally grim as his personality.

To Dipper’s great surprise, the man didn’t immediately leave the scene. The expensive leather shoes continued to squeak in the snow as he lumbered about, eyes constantly searching and glaring at any passersby who dared get in his way. What really threw Dipper off, though, was the obvious disinterest the lawyer had in the fire.

His gaze never strayed from the snow and his neck was weighed down by the increased pressure of his skull being thrown closer to the ground with every step the man took. If Dipper wasn’t mistaken, there was a search going on for something he had yet to realise, so instead he turned back to the fire and admired the smell of ash and clear frost in the air. The lawyer was intent on not bothering to pay attention to anyone, so Dipper had no reservations about making the behaviour mutual.

There was no limit to the amount of time Dipper spend in front of that burning building. He briefly entertained the thought of the light streaks of dawn upon the horizon, but Dipper was aware it could be an aftereffect of staring at the fire for so long.

With a last few sputtering breaths, the fire surrendered to the legion of firemen that had descended upon it for hours, and Dipper turned from the scene as the proper cold of winter properly rattled his bones. In the warmth of the blazing fire, Dipper hadn’t noticed the temperature that came with being outside in the winter night, but his body was reluctant to warm itself up.

It was almost ironic how Dipper’s body truly grew cold when the lack of warmth in his chest became apparent. There was no flashing heat, nor a calming streak of idiotic words being spewed at him - there hadn’t been for the last few hours, now that he pondered the fact. At first the thought of being allowed to spectate had ruled his mind, but the radio silence echoing in his head was bleak and vast.

Frantic fingers splayed across Dipper’s own chest, his hands searching his flannel shirt as the chest pocket came up empty. His back pockets provided no clear answer either, and sweat sprung from his panicked face.

No, no, no, he repeated in a mantra, hoping that at any point the familiar voice would break him off and laugh at him for being stupid. The expected comment never came, and Dipper’s mouth turned dry with fear. His lungs were closing up again, a full blown anxiety attack peaking over the corners of his dark soul, and this time there were no soothing words to work as a deterrent.

He hadn’t really given any thought to how important that gem had become to him until it was no longer in its safe place - no longer in his pocket or on his person.

Shaking his head, Dipper tried to think. Tried to trick himself into believing that he indeed had plenty of air and wasn’t currently lacking in the oxygen department. That he wasn’t about to break down any time soon unless he found the precious gem.

Where had he had it last?

Dipper was certain he had had the stone with him when he first went out on his walk, as evident by the brief discussion he had held with it as they had watched the flames dance in unison. So at what point could he have possibly dropped it when he had not moved?

Think, Dipper, think, he willed himself. If he hadn’t moved, then what? It wasn’t as though the stone could magically disappear by itself. (Or he presumed it couldn’t. Perhaps that was a test he could conduct when he actually found the thing again.) The silence in his head was getting unbearable.

It was like a shooting pain starting from the roots of his hair and pounding its way through his skull until all Dipper could think about was the whereabouts of the stone. It registered only briefly to him that the lawyer, after so much time had passed since their reacquaintance, the older man was still facing his head towards the snow in an entirely unhealthy manner.

Oh, thought Dipper with veiled enthusiasm. Could it be that he had dropped it when he had fallen to the ground? It was an almost absurd question, but it was also the only reasonable one. At any other time during the night, Dipper had been having enrapturing conversations courtesy of the blue gem. At any further point in the night, Dipper’s conversation had taken a sudden turn to the one sided, but he had assumed it was because the voice no longer wanted to be disturbed.

Dropping to his knees, the pain of them hitting the harsh, cold ground was but a faint blip on his radar. His thoughts were no longer filled with raging panic, but a calm determinedness as he set about finding the one thing he had lost.

With less people present at the scene, it became a much easier task than it would have been earlier, but Dipper knew there was a chance someone had found the gem before he even discovered it to be gone. Plenty of people could have walked past without his knowledge and simply plucked it from the ground as just another pretty item.

(Although, was he truly the only one that could hear the voice that came with the stone? Mabel had not once indicated that she was aware there even  _ was _ a voice, and it made Dipper ponder what made him so strangely special.)

His pants were getting soaked, the knees fully absorbing the amount of snow that had steadily melted over time as the heat of the flames had progressed outwards from the building and wrapped the streets in a steady flow of warmth. Dipper paid it no mind as he let his fingers roam whatever snow had kept its integrity.

He met countless of pebbles and pieces of gravel. Bruised his knuckles whenever he miscalculated the distance from the snow and to the pavement hidden underneath. Felt his body grow numb as the heat disappeared from around him and he was left in a darkness that was oppressing and heavy.

By the time Dipper had searched half of the pavement on the corner in front of the shop, the firemen had rolled up the hoses and only a few were left to deal with the after party cleanup. A lone two firemen, exhausted and sooty from a hard night’s work - the scowling lawyer who apparently could not return home until he found was he was looking for - and Dipper. On his knees and desperate to find a gem that was seemingly nowhere near where he had initially fallen on his butt.

Under the buzzing street lamps, there was little noise but the hustle and bustle of the few people who should have long since been off to bed. The occasional car that zoomed past and further down the main street, eyes of both passenger and driver glued to the spectacle of the burned out husk of a shop.

Dipper paid them no mind. Didn’t bother to check if it was anyone he knew or should have greeted upon seeing. His priorities were firm, and in his mind there was no room for anything but the ongoing search.

He wished he had brought gloves with him. Mabel had made him a pair - blue, as he had requested despite her gaze at his strange demand of a specific colour - but he had left them back at the flat, having enjoyed the cold in his fingers on more than one occasion previously. At the moment, though, the gloves would really have been a smart idea to bring along on his little trip.

From sheer habit, Dipper waited patiently for the sarcastic quip about how the cold could be a good thing when torturing people, or that he should soak himself in an ice bath and take the time for how long it took him to turn blue. It didn’t come, and instead the absence in his pocket grew immensely heavier under the dying lights of the night.

His cheeks must have been flushed from both exertion and the temperature of the weather, but there was no one present who could tell him so. Part of Dipper wished he had Mabel with him - had shown her the gem and explained why it was so important he found it again. That it made him feel better than he had in years, and he was too scared to think it gone that he  _ needed _ her help to find it.

_ I’m here, Pine Tree, you just haven’t found me yet _ .

As with the crack of lightning, a flare of light hissed and blinded several feet ahead of where Dipper was desperately searching the ground. One of the streetlamps had given its last dying breath and painted the corner in a darkness that was achingly familiar to Dipper.

In the blink of an eye, there was a much shorter flash. Not quite as obvious, but to Dipper the sight made him expectant and rushed in an effort to cross the small distance left between them.

Nestled carefully in the snow, half covered beneath a pile of grey slush of ash from the fire, was the brilliant blue of the opal gem he knew by heart. In the light of the lamp, it had not been able to properly shine, just as the late owner of the antiques shop had mentioned and Dipper had come to experience time and time again.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dipper allowed his shoulders to slump. His pants were thoroughly wet and had somehow become another colour entirely. He sniffled, nose red and teeth clattering.

He scooped up the gem, his fingers aching from the heat that suddenly erupted from his shivering hands and started to cover his body with blister like bouts of warmth. It was the best feeling Dipper had come across since finding the gem in the first place, and he gently tucked it closer to his face.

Do I have you back? He asked, not entirely ready for his reaction should there be no response to the question. He was, however, spared the thought as the stone flared its deep blue colour in a spastic rhythm.

_ You’ve always had me. _

Dipper laughed, loud and nearly cackling. He startled the last remaining firemen as he sat in the near dark and chuckled at something they most likely couldn’t see from where they were. To him, it didn’t matter how he came off as. To hold the gem in his hands again was enough to make him feel giddy and overjoyed.

_ Don’t you dare go crazy on me, I’m the only one allowed to do that. _ If Dipper wasn’t mistaken, there was just an ounce of something else hidden beneath that statement. A drop of worry and relief tinging the less than obnoxious voice. A mirrored happiness of having found each other once again.

The crash of something metal being turned over had Dipper flinch away from his reprieve. The metal trash can placed strategically on practically every street corner had emptied its content out onto the sidewalk like a spew of barf from an inanimate object.

The lawyer was clutching his leather shoe covered foot, curses flying from his mouth while the remaining firemen yelled at the man for apparently having overturned the garbage collector of its innards.

Dipper couldn’t help himself from looking at the strange sight of a desperate man searching for something that apparently did not exist where the man thought it might be. Their eyes met only briefly as Dipper tried to turn his entire body away from the man in the moment the eyes focused on himself and the gem in his hand. He didn’t entirely succeed, as it became evident that it was like watching a train crash unfolding in front of his eyes.

Another bout of thinly concealed rage bloomed underneath the lawyer’s skin in a pattern that made the flesh red and irritated. A clown becoming more and more purple in his face as the punchline was stolen from him after having spent a long time building up for the climax of the story.

Dipper could only quirk an eyebrow in response. The gem safe and warm in his tight grip. He was glad the thing couldn’t possibly crack or bend under the pressure he put it through, his knuckles white and ghostlike as he left for the apartment.

Whatever the older man thought of him, Dipper really couldn’t fathom. He was quite sure he hadn’t been rude on purpose whenever they ended up next to each other on the bus, and he could hardly be blamed for his freakout in the supermarket all those nights ago. For all its intents and purposes, the man’s anger was misdirected, as far as Dipper was concerned.

Sure, he may have come off as a tad bit crazy - even more so after his joyous reunion with the gem - but it was a reputation Dipper could live with as long as it didn’t circle back to Mabel. (Hannah Evans would probably still spread a few rumours, so even if Mabel did hear, he should be able to dismiss them as the ramblings of the one girl he turned down.)

Thinking of his beloved sister, Dipper was certain he had long overstayed his little nighttime venture beyond the point of Mabel most likely already being up and about. Questions would no doubt be flung in his face, and to be fair he didn’t actually have a great deal of answers he could give her.

‘Sorry, but I heard sirens and decided to check it out in the middle of the night instead of waiting for the morning news like any other sane person?’

That wasn’t exactly going to cut it.

_ Good luck with that one, Pine Tree _ .

 

*

 

Pacifica decided to visit town just after New Year’s.

Mabel was over the top with excitement, and Dipper patiently lived in the mess their apartment had become as soon as his sister was told the news. Her inspiration to craft bigger and more things took a turn Dipper hadn’t expected, but in hindsight, he knew he should have.

Neither of the three had ever truly gotten over what happened that summer in Gravity Falls, and on more than one occasion had they ended up drunk on the floor of some grubby place and talking about their experiences during Weirdmageddon.

Dipper was more reluctant to share, but Mabel was all about crying her eyes out whenever she ended up hugging Pacifica on some balcony and lamenting their existence. Most of all, Pacifica seemed to hate the fact that so few people knew about Weirdmageddon. It wasn’t as though it was the best can of worms to ever open a conversation with, but the lack of simply being able to share had weighed heavily on the rich blonde as well.

Dipper understood to an extent, but it didn’t make him all the more up for sharing when the opportunity arose.

It was a good thing for Mabel, though, and while Dipper felt mostly awkward in Pacifica’s company, he would willingly endure it if it meant keeping his sister off the same medication as he popped daily. (Not that hanging out with Pacifica wasn’t fun - because it was, he had to admit - but there was always that underlying stench of trauma hidden beneath their carefully constructed outer layers.)

Which was how Dipper found himself walking around town with Pacifica on his arm and no Mabel in sight. His sister had stayed after the initial inspection of the store just after they had all met up again, dealing with some emergency or another. Pacifica had been due to visit the establishment she had posted so much money in, and Mabel was intent on running it without a hitch that day, even as it meant not spending as much time with her friend.

“There isn’t much high society in this town, is there?” Asked Pacifica, popping a piece of gum between her teeth as they wandered the main street. Her dangly gold earrings were a sight to behold, and more than a few heads turned and whispered furiously in their companion’s ear as the two of them passed by.

“Not really,” said Dipper, although the statement was pretty much a given.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no kidding. Everybody is staring at me like I’m Kim Kardashian’s butt in a vulgar dress, but they don’t even know how to do so subtly.” The grip she had on Dipper’s arm was loose enough to only be friendly, but with all the eyes on them, there was no helping the blush blooming on the young man’s cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Dipper shot her a sideways glance that portrayed his unease. “Not everyone wants to stay in a huge city, Paz. I can’t even imagine how you can handle living in New York and not go crazy with all the people around.” Pacifica let up on her grip, but only by a nail or two. At least it meant she wasn’t tearing up his favorite flannel shirt with her long, and perfectly manicured, nails. It didn’t help the stares, though.

“Such a pity that you and Mabel didn’t want to come with me,” she pouted, a look she had perfectly so very early in her life, but had only really gained full effect now that they had grown up considerably. “I, on the other hand, don’t understand how you and Mabel can live in a hillbilly town like this. It astounds me there even  _ is  _ a University you can attend.”

Dipper stiffened up, but Pacifica had her eyes on a person further down the street. He couldn’t deny that it was strange - their choice of town to stay in. It wasn’t Gravity Falls that was for sure, but it wasn’t that much bigger. He had a vague theory that part of both Mabel and him would miss the town of horrors too much unless they found a substitute for it. They had, albeit the strange occurrences lately had been more akin of Gravity Falls than any other small town they could have chosen.

“There is one thing I have to ask you, Dipper. And you might not like it.”

And there it was, the heavy subjects of matter that he so desperately wanted to avoid and instead just have a grand old time with a good old friend. He sighed, resigning that this was his fate. “Ask away…”

“Where do you go when you think Mabel isn’t paying attention?”

“I just go on walks, Paz, there’s nothing more to it.” He was tempted to hold up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, but was aware that the joke would fall flat on a stressed out Pacifica.

She gave him the stinkeye, perfect makeup almost getting smeared as she used all the force in one eyelid to squint at him. “That better be all, Dipper. Mabel is worried enough about you as it is.” She said, letting up on the glaring when it was clear he didn’t intend to take the argument any further.

“Who’s that?” Inquired Pacifica instead, the grip on Dipper’s arm growing stronger again. The blonde leaned further on him, clutching the proffered arm closer to her own bust as a snarl overtook her face.

He nearly cried out in as much surprise of the quickly changed subject as well as indignation at the act of the close familiarity the blonde was displaying. Up until he saw who Pacifica was gesturing to with a flutter of her lashes.

Hannah Evans was standing outside of the grocery store her grandmother used to frequent, and her gaze had zeroed in on Dipper and Pacifica. She had dropped the package of bell peppers in her initial surprise, but her face took on a grotesque quality as she sneered right back at Pacifica.

Before they got too close to the grocery store, Dipper tried to forcefully steer Pacifica down a side road, but she would not be deterred. “Seriously, Pacifica, that’s a really bad idea.” She must have grown stronger over the time they had spent apart, or perhaps her heels simply dug into the snowy pavement with more power than Dipper could muster to counter her serious stride. “Paz, it’s the employee Mabel had you fire for coming onto me, so I’d appreciate not having to walk past her ever again in my entire life.”

Pacifica laughed loud and cheerful. A manner entirely unfitting for the situation as Dipper came continuously closer to the current bane of his existence. “Silly you, we’re going to take her down a peg or two. Now play along and act like you aren’t about to flee from a murder scene.”

Dipper could taste the bile rising in his throat at the thought of walking any closer to Hannah Evans and her judgement nature. The rumours hadn’t been able to be entirely squashed ever since Mabel got her fired, and in turn Dipper had worked on keeping his public breakdowns to a minimum as to not add fuel to her hateful fire.

“Seriously, Paz, what are you trying to do? I really don’t want to-”

She broke into a gasping laughter again, calling forth tears to the corner of her eyes as she made a show of wiping away the moisture in her eyes and smearing up the on point eyeshadow. “Oh, Dipper, you’re so funny. How did I ever get so lucky.” Smacking him on the arm with force enough to make him bruise, Pacifica’s eyebrow twitched and Dipper gave her a tentative smile in return.

“That’s just how I am around you,” he said with a light voice, knowing that they were close enough for Hannah to hear their conversation loud and clear. He laughed a little at the end of his sentence, letting Pacifica know through an elaborate dance of squiggling eyebrows that he did not appreciate her version of help, but that he was willing to play along for now.

She threw herself at him, her eyes shining bright as she gazed up at him, their difference in height playing a positive role as Pacifica came off as slightly ditzy and completely head over heels for him. Dipper, in turn, indulged her with blushing and throwing a casual arm over her shoulder as he tugged her closer as they passed Hannah and the jaw she had dropped on the floor.

Playing the role of the rich and young lover suited Pacifica just fine, if her dangerous smirk was anything to go by, and Dipper feared for his life. “We should take a trip to Paris again soon, Dipper. It’s been  _ so _ long since we’ve been to Louvre, and my Father does miss your exhilarating company.”

He came close to bursting a kidney with the amount of laughter he had to hold in. Dipper had never been to Paris, much less having made a positive impression on Pacifica’s Father who loathed both Mabel and himself. If it wasn’t for Pacifica being old enough to having moved out of the Northwest Mansion years ago, Dipper was certain their strange friendship wouldn’t have lasted another summer.

_ Really, Pine Tree? This is your retribution? _

Oh yes, and it was glorious, he thought. “Ah, should we book tickets or let your Father send the jet? I know how he gets if I let you sit on anything below the 1st class row.” Dipper didn’t know if the Northwests actually had a jet, but so far he wouldn’t be surprised if Pacifica told him that they did.

There was nothing more satisfying to Dipper than seeing the outrage on Hannah’s face as they left her behind in the dust, her mind no doubt running a mile a minute to place the gorgeous blonde hanging off of Dipper Pines’ arm.

The two of them turned a corner as Dipper could see Pacifica’s mask was slowly cracking. With their backs to Hannah, it was easier to hide their desire to crack up and burst into another round of laughter, but Dipper strongly preferred them escaping the scene unscathed before doing so.

“She probably thinks we’re dating now. Rumours are bound to spread since you basically flipped off the self proclaimed Queen of Gossip in this town.”

“Let them talk.” Said Pacifica, a curl of pale blonde hair escaping her neat locks. “Gossip was made to be flung around, and not actually carry an ounce of truth with it.”

The path was a lesser used one, and Dipper recognized it as one of the few shortcuts leading down to his University, but never had he enjoyed a shortcut as much as he did then.

Pacifica squealed with glee as they finally came out far enough away from Hannah that her laughter wouldn’t be heard all too clearly. Her guffaws were loud and warm in the noise of the town. Dipper joined her, clutching his stomach as tears of his own spilled over the corner of his eyes and made his cheeks run wet. “Thanks,” he gasped between gulps of air. “I think I really needed that.”

Drawing a deep breath herself, Pacifica composed her wracking frame and gave him a genuine smile. “You seemed like you needed it,” she said and wiped at her dripping makeup. The mascara had somehow managed to hold, but the thin skin around her eyes was a messy canvas of blended foundation and dark eyeshadow.

“As much as I appreciate this wonderful tour of town that you have decided to take me on, is there anywhere near I can freshen up? It won’t do to walk out in public any longer looking like, like  _ this _ .” And there was the Pacifica he had grown to care about. Still vain, but not to the extent he had ever believed her capable of.

He pointed further down the road of the shortcut, his breath still coming out in ragged little spurts as he tried not to continue down the path of laughing forever until he died from lack of oxygen. “My University’s actually just down this way, it should still be open for today. And I sort of need to pick up a book anyway.”

They walked the rest of the trip with smalltalk burying the silence that otherwise would have erupted. Dipper caught himself smiling more than once at some anecdote or another from Pacifica’s time in New York and the daily life she was living.

He parted with her in front of the doors leading to the ladies’ room, as he hopped off to the library to pick up the book he had ordered.

_ Having fun _ ?

Immensely, he told the voice and couldn’t stop another grin from spreading. It had been such a long time since he had seen Pacifica and not just spoken with her on the phone, and it reminded him of why he enjoyed human contact with only a select few people.

The book was checked out on autopilot, a greeting thrown in the direction of the librarian who wanted to be anywhere except at work, and Dipper couldn’t stop from asking a question that had plagued his mind.

Would he have been happier if he had never gone to Gravity Falls that fateful summer, or would he still be on medication due to some unfortunate events?

_ That’s the beauty of it, Pine Tree, you’ll never know _ .

There was a temptation to ask whether or not there wasn’t an actual way of answering that peculiar question, but fear of the answer kept him from pressing the matter too far. As it was, Dipper was content trudging back to the ladies’ room and coming face to face with a Pacifica who looked less than amused.

She was tapping her foot on the linoleum floor, makeup once again flawless and hair having been brushed to the point where it appeared near photoshopped. Pacifica was out of place in the little town University, but Dipper appreciated her effort to remain as friends.

(Not that Mabel or he had the money to go visit Pacifica in New York, should the opportunity arise and she herself stop visiting at home.)

“Is something wrong?” He asked as soon as he was sure it wouldn’t have to be shouted across the hall. Pacifica was a bit paler around the edges than when he had left her, and while it could sometimes be attributed to the smell permeating in the bathroom stalls, she was usually much tougher than such an obstacle.

Pacifica scowled, lipstick jutting out in tact with her lower lip as she seemingly pondered the pros and cons of telling Dipper about whatever was bothering her. “I think I met one of your teachers in the bathroom.”

And okay, that wasn’t exactly what he figured her statement would be, but who was he to judge? “What did they look like?” Dipper had to be certain before he talked further with Pacifica. There were a few students on the campus grounds that could be mistaken for teachers if you hit them up on the right day, and there was no reason for Pacifica to scowl so much unless something truly weird had happened.

She dismissed him as she inspected her nails, the paint clear and without chips so far. “Short, brown hair, eyes like rich chocolate from St. Martin.”

Dipper didn’t know what chocolate from St. Martin looked like, but he was willing to venture a guess about who the teacher had been. “You must have met Mrs Bailey,” he said. “She teaches me in Lit class. She’s pretty cool, though.”

The raised eyebrow was all the warning he got before Pacifica gave him the fullon disapproving glare that made him rethink his belief in his own sanity. It was strange how a person could manage to make one doubt their entire existence, but there had never been anyone quite like Pacifica before, if Dipper had to say so himself.

“I think you might have hit your head at some point, Dipper, because she was far from cool.” She pulled her purse tighter to her chest and tilted her head in the way that made Dipper follow along like a lost puppy on a tight leash.

“I’m serious, Paz, Mrs Bailey is one of the good teachers. Trust me, you could have run into a lot worse people in the ladies’ room than her.”

She scoffed, eyes sceptic and pessimistic as she regarded the world and what it decided to throw in her face. “You can say what you want, Dipper, but that encounter was weird - even for me. She was just talking to me out of nowhere, and it seemed pretty personal if you ask me.”

Dipper rolled his eyes, heavy book held firmly in his hands as Pacifica trudged on ahead of him. She must have had a sixth sense to know he did so, because the blonde turned to him with a mean glare on her face that promised pain and death for a thousand years.

“She asked me a lot of weird questions. Like,  _ a lot _ .” She hissed the words through perfect teeth, almost like a whisper instead of normal words. Inspecting her nails, she briefly spared Dipper another, softer glance. “I’m getting a strange feeling about all of this. And I do not like strange feelings  _ ever _ .”

It was strange to Dipper that Mrs Bailey was the one to set off Pacifica and her bullshit detector, but then again, after the incident with Grunkle Stan suddenly having a twin, he wouldn’t deny that it was impossible to know someone entirely.

They continued their walk in silence, the cold of the outside refreshing on Dipper’s tastebuds. Snow was steadily falling from above in a cosy stream of flaked white. It didn’t deter Pacifica and her designer heels and Dipper fought to keep up with her fast pace as they approached the parking lot near Mabel and his place.

“This whole town is weird, even you can’t deny that, can you?” Pacifica was glancing around at the people every now and then. Trained to be much more subtle in the art of spying on people than the inhabitants of their small town.

He simply gave her a headshake of agreement, because he couldn’t deny that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Ever since the antiques shop had burned down in early December, the whole town had been acting strangely off. He had attributed it to the fact that barely anyone in their small city ever actually died in an accident or a murder, but the nervousness in his stomach betrayed his rational mind that screamed paranoia.

“I’m serious, Dipper, whatever shit you’re getting yourself involved in, don’t drag Mabel and I with you. Be better than that - be better to yourself than that.” Her hand met his shoulder in a gentle squeeze, and while the gesture left him feeling warm and happy, the flaring bout of calm from his chest pocket overshadowed whatever impression Pacifica tried to leave on him.

The blonde gave him a fierce hug and ordered him to give Mabel an extra hug from her as soon as he saw his sister again. He assured her that he would do so with a smile on his glowing face.

Jealous? He thought when Pacifica had gotten into her obscenely expensive car. It had looked strangely out of place next to the old beat up ones in different rusting colours.

_ No _ .

The gem flickered in its steady flow of heat, and Dipper couldn’t help the snicker that left his lips.

_ Don’t laugh at me! _

I’m not, he tried to assure, but he also knew it came off nowhere near as convincing as it should have. Maybe I just have a thing for blondes after all, thought Dipper.

_ Or maybe you just really like gold _ .

He couldn’t really argue with that.

 

*

 

It was after a particularly long night walk that things took a turn for the worse.

The snow had started to melt in pleasant, short bursts of heat from the sun. It made the streets wet and soggy like every other time of the year, but to Dipper it was a refreshing change. His walks had become longer as the trip back home from the University became increasingly nice in speed with the good change in weather.

It never stopped him from taking an extra long walk after he presumed Mabel had fallen asleep, and perhaps that was where he had gone wrong too many times.

“Isn’t it lovely out?” Asked Dipper, his feet crossing as he dared himself to walk in a straight line on the empty sidewalk down to the apartment. He had foregone the jacket again, but without heavy rain he didn’t see the necessity in bringing it with him.

_ I am not actually aware of the weather, but if you say so I am inclined to believe you, Pine Tree. _

Dipper stopped his queer walk, a question jumping to the forefront of his mind with a flashing neon sign and demanding to be answered. “How do you know about where I am at any time? It’s not like you have actual eyes to see with.”

There was silence for a short while, but Dipper didn’t mind. He knew words would be shared when they had been carefully selected and pondered until there was nothing more to ponder. The air was warmer too, if he wasn’t mistaken.

_ I guess I don’t perceive things the way you humans do. I am aware of what is around, but I only sense them in an abstract way. There is no sound or vision, only existence _ .

“That was dark,” said Dipper with a faint laugh. He resumed his normal walk, content with the answer and the fact that he should be getting back and nap for a few hours before Mabel got up and woke him for school. “How come you can be so dark when you feel so bright?”

His chest flared warm again, but whether it was of its own volition or because of the gem, Dipper didn’t know. Nor did he much care to find out.

_ Only you see me that way, Pine Tree, only you. _

Dipper fiddled with the keys in his pocket as he came to stand in front of the door to their apartment. To his great curiosity, there was a sliver of light peeking through the kitchen curtains, as far as he could see.

He counted the occurrence as weird, considered Mabel went to bed hours ago, but that it was still dark enough for no one to be up and about yet. As far as he was aware, they hadn’t been expecting guests, and neither Grunkle Stan nor Grunkle Ford would show up unannounced. And he knew for a fact that he had turned the lights off when he had skulked out of the door.

He turned the lock, the key sweaty in his hands as he tried to make as little noise as possible. It was always a hard task when the door tended to creak and moan for oil whenever one of them opened it, but Dipper had come to know the best way to push it open  _ just so _ without making it rattle like a snake.

Which is why it was to his great surprise that he found Mabel sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of hot chocolate in her hands like a lifeline. At any other time, he might have laughed at the sight and lamented on her lack of marshmallows in her choice of hot beverage - but not that night. Not when his sister was looking like that.

Thick tears spilled over her red cheeks, and Dipper had never felt more ashamed in his entire life, because part of him was aware those droplets were being spilled because of him. His ears burned at the sight of his sister in tears, but his heart ached and ripped apart in his chest at her next words.

“I don’t know you anymore, bro-bro.” She sobbed. “I don’t know who you’re friends with… If you have a crush on someone… Where you go every night when you think I’m asleep and won’t hear you walk out of the front door… I don’t know who my brother is anymore.” Mabel wailed the last part of her broken sentence, fingers clutching the sleeves of the long sweater she was wearing.

The material was well worn - often used and very much loved. For all the courage in the world, Dipper couldn’t force himself to look his sister in the eye. To look anywhere but the thin piece of string Mabel was rolling between her fingers as she continued sobbing until the noise became all consuming in the silence of the apartment.

“I’m sorry,” said Dipper, a tear dripping down his cheek at the cries of despair that was leaving his sister. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Dipper could barely make his mouth twist and make the sounds intelligible. He fell forwards on his knees, the floor scraping the thin skin underneath his trousers, but in that moment Dipper could care less.

He hugged Mabel tight as she sat on the fragile kitchen chair, the wood creaking under the combined weight of the twins as Dipper wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m not doing drugs, I swear, Mabes, I’m not. I just - I just need some time to clear my head from time to time. It’s making me feel better and I’m not skipping out on any of my medication. I’ll even let you count the pills.” He choked out the last parts in a cringe worthy laugh, and Mabel sob-laughed right alongside him.

They were perhaps two of the most unattractive human beings on the planet in that very moment, but Dipper could care less. All he could feel was the shaking frame of his sister as they cried in unison about something Dipper wasn’t quite sure was worth crying over.

He could see it from Mabel’s point of view.

Knew that she worried about him immensely after everything they had been through, and she knew better than anyone the scars he carried because of it. Mabel had seen him at his worst, which was the exact reason he couldn’t blame her for the worry she so obviously held within her now.

Brushing back her hair, he placed a kiss on his sister’s forehead, letting her have enough room to dry her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater. She sobbed a bit longer, but the cries slowly became nothing more than soft hiccups.

“What spurred this on?” He decided to ask. Mabel sniffed again, eyes still rimmed red, but they were brighter than they had been previously, despite their clear sheen of tears.

She grumbled a bit, avoiding looking at Dipper regardless of their close contact. He hadn’t moved from his awkward position on the floor and Mabel hadn’t made it clear whether she was willing to move out of the kitchen chair either.

“It’s just…” she began, breaking off when a wet gulp blocked her throat. “You’ve been so distant lately. You don’t want to talk to me about anything at all anymore, but you seem happier than you have been for ages… Is it me? Am I boring you?” Mabel sobbed the last part of her sentence, yet another bout of tears pressing in on them.

Dipper let himself fall back on the floor, his butt against the wooden panels and a look on his face that belied exactly what he thought of her assessment. “Mabel, are you serious?” He had to ask, because clearly their communicating skills had become rusty lately for her to even pose the question. “There is no way I could ever get bored of you. You’re my sister, for crying out loud, and I love you to the end of the world and beyond that.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? And don’t tell me you haven’t, because we both know that’s a lie. I want to know the truth, Dip-dop, not the sugarcoated version you have been feeding me.”

“Mabel, I…” The words were harder to will out than he thought they would be. It could have been the fact he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was still sane, but he loathed to see Mabel in such a state as she was in then. “I’ve not actually been talking to Mrs Bailey about everything that happened that summer. It’s sort of been someone else.”

His chest flared, a smidge of anger coated behind a good layer of ‘don’t you go telling on me.’ Dipper shook his head as Mabel patiently waited for an answer as well as she could. She was fidgeting in the chair, the wood creaking and bending.

_ Pine Tree, don’t tell her about me. She won’t take to it well and I don’t want to go. _

“I want to tell her, though,” he said, and it was only when Mabel kept staring at him that he figured the words had somehow been said out loud. Dipper gulped, the pressure of Mabel’s gaze suddenly terrifying and fear inducing.

“Tell me what?”

Breathing deep, he glanced at his twin. “Mabel, you have to understand that you might not like what I tell you. I need you to promise me that you won’t interfere, okay? I’m feeling better, and what I’m about to say is perhaps the only reason for that development.”

“Dipper, you’re starting to scare me.” Mabel was whispering by then, her sweater drawn up closer to her head as though she was already preparing herself for a trip to sweater town. For all Dipper knew, she might as well have been.

“Promise me, Mabel, that you won’t freak out or get mad or demand I stop. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but please, I need to know.”

She stayed silent, contemplating his statement if her silence was anything to go by. A short huff of air escaped from her lips, and she turned her gaze back on him with a steely resolve flashing in their depths. “Okay,” she said.

And just like that Dipper’s hands turned clammy and the room closed in on him. His heart was beating too loud, the blood in his ears rushing like a frothing river. Are you okay with this? He asked, fearing the answer that came his way.

_ Just don’t let her take me from you. _

I won’t, he promised, unsure whether or not he would be able to keep it.

“Almost a year ago I went to the antiques shop on a whim. I heard a voice calling out to me, and I might have followed it without actually thinking too much about it? It seems like such a long time ago now that I think about it… But anyway, I found a gem in the shop, and it was just so mesmerizing, Mabel, I couldn’t leave it.” He bit his lip, fingers already fishing out the gem from his chest pocket. He missed the spark of calm warmth over his heart, but for now he was content with putting it on the kitchen table for his sister to see.

Her breath was sparked by fear when the colour shone. The brilliant blue he had come to associate with calm and companionship raged in his sister’s mind accompanied by shrill laughter and the sound of people screaming. Dipper could see the way her shoulders tensed up and her sweater became all the more of a blanket as she hugged it tighter to her shaking frame.

She stuttered. “It looks like-”

“Like Bill’s flames.” He broke her off. The name would be softer on his own lips than Mabel’s own, and in that moment he needed softness. Needed to convince her that not everything about that summer had been traumatizing in spite of the few friends they had managed to make over the course of a contained war. “Mabel, I know it will be hard for you to understand, but carrying that gem around makes me better.”

Mabel didn’t answer him. Didn’t turn to look at him as her unblinking eyes kept an unfocused gaze on the thing that reminded her of darker times. “You said you heard a voice?” She whispered. “Do you… Do you hear Bill?”

Dipper nodded, and although he must have been in the corner of her eye, she must have seen him do so. “It’s his voice, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know if I’m going crazy or if that stone is somehow connected to him, but it makes me feel better. I have someone to talk to who doesn’t mind-” He gulped, well aware of how the next sentence would reflect on him. “Who doesn’t mind my darker thoughts when I can’t share them with someone else.”

“Does he try and make you to do bad things?” A trickle of new tears made their way down Mabel’s cheeks, but Dipper didn’t comment on it, neither the roughness within her voice as she barked out the question.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “But I generally do the opposite whenever he becomes a bit too much. Not that it’s often, though, we generally just discuss matters of the universe and trade quips from time to time.”

She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, and never in his wildest nightmares had he thought that fear would be directed at him. That he would be the one to scare his sister until words became a pale and distant memory.

He fought back the urge to panic and kept his arm movements small. “I’m still me, Mabel. It’s not Bill in my body, just slightly in my head at times when we both feel like talking. This isn’t a new Bipper situation, Mabes.”

“How can I know that? It could be something he’s making you say right now!” She stood from the chair, making it wobble and fall to the floor with a loud clatter of noise. Her fingers twitched for some kind of weapon, or so Dipper assumed, but both knew the grappling hook of choice was always left in her bedroom.

He stayed on the ground, hoping that the sudden change of height would leave Mabel feeling as though she had the advantage. (In a way she did, but he wasn’t letting that thought in at the moment.)

“Mabel, I can’t hear his voice when the gem isn’t on my person - not really, anyway. It’s only been twice before that I’ve heard it when I didn’t have it on me. The first time was when I went to the antiques shop and found it, while the second time I had dropped it in the snow when the antiques shop caught on fire. You know, that one time I had been out all night and you yelled at me.”

“The one where you tried to convince me that you had been out early to get me croissants but you got held up because of the fire?” She was still sceptic, as evident by the frowning lips, but her eyebrows had lightened up considerably from their scrunched position from earlier.

Dipper laughed, because in all fairness that excuse had been some of the lamest on the spot thinking he had ever done. “That’s the one.”

Mabel joined him on the floor, not wanting to straighten up the fallen chair just yet. On any other day Dipper would have told her to do it with a little reprimand, but given the situation they found themselves in, he was willing to let that one slide.

Her next words shocked him, but perhaps not as much as he thought they should have, since he himself did pose the same question it happened. “Did Bill have anything to do with the antiques shop burning down? The news said it suspected foul play, but no real evidence could be gathered from the scene.”

“You know, I asked the same thing.”

“Really?”

“I did, and the answer was no. Bill didn’t have anything to do with that fire.” He said it with as much conviction as he could muster. Mainly because he firmly believed Bill to not have anything to do with the fire at the antiques shop, and then again to make sure Mabel understood how certain he was of the answer.

He believed in Bill, and he hoped she would do so too, one day.

“ _ That _ fire? What have you two been getting involved in?” Mabel’s voice was loud, although the sudden changes from whispers to near shouts were as erratic as Bill’s mood.

“Actually,” said Dipper. There was one incident he could refer to and know Mabel would be in the same corner as the demon. “Bill may sort of have been the one to stop Hannah from throwing herself at me that time in your shop. The one where I rejected her, if you remember.”

“Oh, I remember, bro-bro. Vividly.” Her manic glee contributed to that statement, and Dipper had the slight urge to scoot away from his sister. “I guess there is at least one good thing that came out of that stupid piece of rock so far…”

Dipper perked up. “Is that a ‘you won’t hit me on the head with your grappling hook for not telling me about this sooner’ acceptance speech?” Maybe that whole thing about getting off scot free was a bit far fetched, but a guy can hope.

At least the whack on the back of his head was much more calm and controlled than it could have been, given the scope of his revelations.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you,” mumbled Mabel. “It doesn’t mean you’re getting away with this. If things take a turn for the worse I want to know I can call Grunkle Ford without the two of you killing me, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” said Dipper as soon as the words had left her mouth and the sentence comprehended in his mind. “Although I would appreciate you not telling anyone about this. All they need to know is that I’m slowly getting better, not that Bill is the one helping me get to that point.”

Mabel clicked her tongue, inner conflict raging on her face as her nose twisted and her brows furrowed at the request. “What I don’t do for my idiotic twin.”

“You’re the best,” he said, drawing his sister close for another squeezing hug that left her laughing and ended with the two of them locked in a tickle fight until Mabel relented. She left the room out of breath and hair a straight mess from where Dipper had tried to tame it when she had been bawling her eyes out.

Grabbing the gem from the table and putting it back in his chest pocket, Dipper heaved a big sigh of relief.

That wasn’t too bad, was it? He asked. Technically he could pose the question out loud now and not be completely throttled with questions about it, but part of him preferred the private conversations he could hold with Bill.

_ It was sort of terrible, Pine Tree, you have to admit. She must at least think you half crazy at the moment, but as long as you think she won’t throw me away _ .

She won’t, he thought.

 

*

 

Dipper didn’t notice the change in behaviour with Mrs Bailey until about three weeks after the winter holidays had ended and school had found itself fit to start up again.

The changes happened gradually over such a long period of time Dipper thought he was seeing things. His kind teacher who had given him a ride home whenever the weather was worse for wear, or helped out the lonely student in the back who had trouble understanding whatever text they were currently researching.

Her classes became more subdued, not as many jokes or videos used whenever someone had a question or they all needed a fixer upper at the end of a long day. Her hair became flat and lacked the life that most people had found endearing, the locks no longer shining when in the flourescent light of the lamps in school.

It was when Mrs Bailey started forgetting to bring her books with her to class that the whispered rumours exploded and increased tenfold. Some were certain she had cancer but was refusing treatment, at least partially. One of the crazier theories was that of her worshipping demons, but it was considered ridicule in most circles of the school. The last few people had a strange belief that she was cheating on her husband and that the secret double life was wearing her thin.

Dipper didn’t even know who Mrs Bailey’s husband was until the day he stumbled upon them in class. Which in itself was weird, as Mrs Bailey herself had requested he stop by her classroom before he ventured home that day.

That Dipper didn’t expect the potbelly lawyer he had seemingly offended at some point or another, was entirely his own mistake to make.

“Mrs Bailey?” He after he had rapped on the door and already stumbled into the abandoned classroom. There had never been any reason to knock on the door before, but most students still did it out of respect. That they didn’t wait for an ‘okay’ before coming in was entirely the teacher’s fault for being too lenient.

It didn’t prepare Dipper for the sight of Mrs Bailey and the lawyer from down the street arguing over something that made them fall quiet as he entered the room. “I’m sorry, Mrs Bailey, is this a bad time? I could always stop by tomorrow.”

She waved him off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she rose from the chair hidden behind her desk. “No, no, Mr Pines, now would be just fine.” Dipper quirked an eyebrow and with a startled laugh she followed his enquiring gaze to the man beside her. “Silly me! Mr Pines please meet Harold Bailey, my husband. Harold, this is the student I have told you  _ so _ much about.”

Harold didn’t extend a hand to shake, so Dipper saw it fit to return the lack of gesture. Mrs Bailey either didn’t want to notice or simply missed the electricity in the air as she turned on her heels and whirled to the stack of books neatly placed on her desk. “Now where did I put it,” she muttered, albeit Dipper didn’t know what she was looking for.

She hadn’t cited a specific reason for him to be in her classroom after hours, as they had neither assignments to write or books to read at the moment. Having just finished one specific author before moving onto the next, it was common to let the students breathe. For her to pull Dipper in so quickly after finishing was unusual and it made Dipper twitch his fingers.

Harold’s eyes were on him, and Dipper couldn’t help but flinch under the intense gaze. The man was taller than him by a few inches, broader too, than Dipper would most likely ever be. It was unsettling to say the least.

“Lily says you’re a smart guy, Mr Pines.” The deep voice was a lot more grumbling than Dipper appreciated, sounding more like a bear than a man - so much so that it made him jump in fright. It took him a second to come to the conclusion that Lily was Mrs Bailey’s first name. He had never actually pondered about her name, as Mrs Bailey was the preferred use whenever someone addressed their teacher.

Dipper stumbled over his words, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as Harold edged closer and Mrs Bailey continued to search for a seemingly disappeared book. “I guess so,” he squeaked out, taking a step back as Harold came too close to his personal space.

_ Scales better step back before I light him up like a christmas tree on the surface of the sun _ .

Scales? Dipper pondered. It was a strange nickname, but then again, so was every other nickname Bill had come up with. Still, it didn’t make the greatest of sense to Dipper as the man continued to lessen the distance between them until the unease practically permeated the air like a bad deodorant.

_ He’s a man of law, isn’t he? Tipping the scales of justice. Therefore, Scales is appropriate enough. If he just so happens to be slimy too, then it’s up to interpretation. _

Dipper would have laughed out loud at the reasoning if it hadn’t been for Harold grabbing his arms and forcing him to his knees on the floor. He cried out in surprise and pain as he scraped his skin on the rough ground, Mrs Bailey seemingly paying neither of them any attention as she began whistling a happy tune.

He trashed and struggled in Harold’s grip, but it was tight and unbreakable from the position he was in. Gnomes and dinosaurs and monsters under your bed, Dipper could deal with all of those, but facing man was often the most difficult of tasks.

“What’s going on?” Asked Dipper, anger coating his throat and making him let out a growl at the end. This was not acceptable behaviour from a teacher, much less the only one who liked having him pose questions in her class.

Mrs Bailey turned, tongue poking out slightly as she retrieved a dusty leather tome from amidst her pile of books. Her eyes crinkled with joy as she tutted at her student. “Mr Pines, you have made a simple task much harder for us than it should have ever been. First I come to realise that the item my husband and I need for a spell has been sold to you, and then you seemingly carry it with you everywhere.” She laughed, pushing another strand of hair from her face as it fell in front of eyes and spilled into her mouth.

It stung him with clarity that the antiques shop had burned to the ground shortly after Mrs Bailey had visited it in hopes of finding whatever it was she had been searching for. Clearly she hadn’t, or the owner of the antiques shop would still have been alive. At least, that’s what Dipper grasped from the situation so far.

“What does any of this have to do with me?” He wanted to scream and lash out, and by the flaming hot anger sizzling away in his pocket, Bill had a thing or two to say to the couple as well.

_ If they don’t let you go soon, Pine Tree, I’m killing them in whatever way I want _ .

Wait, he begged. “Why do you think I can help you with this - this spell?”

Harold shoved him a bit closer to the ground, the pressure on his shoulder joints reaching a tipping point as they croaked and cried under the stress. “You have the gem we need, or are you not as smart as my wife tells me you are?”

The gem, of course. Everything always came back to Bill, didn’t it?

_ Don’t blame me, I can’t help it. _

“Then when you crashed into me that night in front of the antiques shop?” Dipper frowned while glancing up at the man restraining him. Nothing was making a lick of sense to him, not anymore at least. The opal was a precious gem, sure, but it wasn’t impossible to get a substitute. Unless it had to be that one stone.

“Ah, yes, the night Harold failed tremendously,” said Mrs Bailey, her disappointed eyes staring straight at the lawyer who sneered in response. “It would seem that pickpocketing is by far the worst activity to send my pudgy husband to do. Silly fool dropped after he took it from your pocket. And it would seem you have a knack for finding the thing.” She took a step forward, licking one finger as she set about finding a dog eared page in the leather book.

“Such a shame your little blonde friend didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. Never heard about you carrying any gems around, downright laughed at the notion when I prodded her about its whereabouts. If you ever actually parted with the thing for longer than a moment.” She stopped flicking the pages, her gaze drawn to her husband as she nodded her head in the direction of Dipper’s chest pocket. “Might as well take it by force, then. Not like what we are about to summon would let you live to see another day.”

Mrs Bailey barely managed to take a step before the stone burst into blue flames and Dipper’s vision wa flooded with memories. A heated summer and feelings that shouldn’t have existed within him.

He stumbled, fell to his knees with a hard knock that would surely bruise in the morning. Mrs Bailey and Harold tumbled to the floor, eyes lolling back in their heads and limbs jerking every which way like convulsing lambs ready for slaughter. The flames burned and ate at the room, a hungry and insatiable beasts just as its master.

They didn’t stop, and Dipper made no move to help them.

Instead, he fumbled for the stone, entirely too hot to hold in his hand and it dropped to the floor to lie dormant. Silent, but not for long.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t kill them. Just made them sleep in this world while their consciousnesses take a small trip to the nightmare realm.” It was such a small noise that Dipper could barely hear the words.

“Bill?”

There was a crack in the surface of the opal. Tiny, miniscule, heartbreaking. Bill is fading, and there was nothing Dipper could do to prevent it. “I think I used too much power.” Huffed Bill, somehow out of breath despite not having a corporeal form.

Dipper shudders on the floor, acutely aware of the cold seeping into his fingers and legs and the roots of his hair. “Bill?” He called out again, one pinky poking at the gem, colour fading and growing more dull with each passing second.

“It’s okay, Pine Tree… Really… I’ve had my fun with this world. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to go someplace new? That would be a blast, wouldn’t it? New places to conquer, new skies to see, new people to meet. Although they won’t hold a candle to you, Pine Tree. You were always the special one… The one that made this world so interesting… If I could, I would leave you some deer teeth. As a gift, you know? That’s how humans do it, don’t they? How they say thank you?”

Yeah, he wanted to say. Wanted to scream that he was the one supposed to say thank you. The words never left him, though, holed up in his head like so many other thoughts and feelings that made him choke.

Bill seemed to understand, however, because the gem pulsed a slow blue as the flames around them died out. Piece by piece, fire no longer ate at the wood and the smoke halted its retreat to the cloud castles in the sky.

 

*

 

Dipper walked back to the apartment in a haze.

He took the long way around from the University, but there was no one there to keep him company along the lazy roads. There were no cars and no people, only him and his fracturing mind.

He was in front of the door before he could blink, black spots in his memory where the trip home should have been. When he finally twisted the knob and sauntered in - slight bruising and tiny trickles blood turning his face into a painting that had been given neither love nor care - Mabel was sitting by the kitchen table again. She was covered in glue and some type of yarn he hadn’t seen her with before.

There was a need to comment on the yarn, but his tongue wouldn’t twist in the right direction, and all he could gasp out were broken words until he found a patch of air that didn’t leave his mouth dry and hacking.

“You don’t need to call Grunkle Ford anymore.” The words were out of his mouth, and he was aware that he said them, although the voice was all twisted and wrong. He didn’t sound like himself, because he knew he was alone now. There was only emptiness in his chest where Bill should have been.

“Dipper! What do you mean? What’s going-”

“Don’t call Grunkle Ford. There’s no need.”

She stood from her chair, making the legs of it scratch over the kitchen floor in a screeching noise that made him flinch. “Dipper…” Mabel tried again, taking a step closer to her trembling brother.

She must have seen the tears he didn’t notice himself, as she drew him into a strong hug and hushed the sobs that left him.

“Bill’s gone,” was all he managed to choke out before his legs collapsed under him, and the two of them ended up on the floor. Him bawling his eyes out and Mabel petting his hair as she hummed a comforting tune into his shirt. “Bill’s gone… He’s gone.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's a wrap for this year's Christmas stories. I'll be posting a poll on my profile and you can cast your vote as to next year's 24 chapter December story should be. I would also appreciate no spoilers in the comment section, as I have yet to watch the last episode of Gravity Falls. I kinda went into this blind, but I'm satisfied with the outcome.
> 
> Happy Christmas!


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